


Around Our Ankles Winds a Flowering Tumult

by dovahfiin



Series: Stay [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anakin and Palps on holiday, Benevolent Sheev Palpatine, Bottom Anakin Skywalker, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Force Bond (Star Wars), Light Side Palpatine, M/M, Male Slash, Minor Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan is a Total Wet Blanket, Palpatine is a romantic, Planet Naboo (Star Wars), Requited Love, Resolved Sexual Tension, Seduction to the Dark Side, Sexual Tension, The Dark Side of the Force, Top Sheev Palpatine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-16 01:40:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13625862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahfiin/pseuds/dovahfiin
Summary: With just over two standard weeks left on Naboo, Palpatine experiences a crisis of self. Fighting his changing feelings toward Anakin and a growing apathy in returning to the promotion of the Grand Plan, the ailing Jedi inadvertently pushes him to follow his own advice and embrace his sovereignty.Anakin wants everything and nothing at all, examining his feelings and coming away with more questions than answers; Obi-Wan suspects something is amiss.





	1. to rift the fiery night that's in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin returns to the grove with a besotted Palpatine. The will of the Force is hashed out, and all misgivings are laid to rest.

_round and around and around and around we go_

* * *

****

****

Anakin wrestles with an infection for the better part of three days, although by mid-morning on the third day, he is able to move his arm without drawing on the Force to sooth the raging pain shooting up through his shoulder and out his fingertips. Through his entire recovery, Palpatine either reads to him from the side of the bed or, during moments when Anakin spikes a fever or is otherwise exceptionally unwell, slides into the bed beside him. Anakin prefers this to the reading, although the resulting expanded Nubian vocabulary will certainly impress Padme. He finds, as the Chancellor moves wayward strands of hair from his eyes and blots his forehead with a damp rag, that he _does_ miss her, but she would have never done this. No one had ever done this, save for Shmi. Then again, having any means of medicinal relief available to him on Coruscant often removed the necessity to be nursed. Droids did just as well; often better, as their care was exacting and completely sterile. In all the times he'd been injured, however, this had been by far the most serious wound.

The care came with cajoling jabs about how stubborn he was, though he did his best to submit himself to the hand of the Chancellor, he felt himself long to leave his guest quarters. Obi-Wan had nearly overheated his comm when he'd heard about Anakin's sickness, demanding an update and serving a look of utter disdain when the Chancellor had effervescently replied that he was receiving a level of care tantamount to what he would at the Temple.

As a silver lining, he hadn't had time to consider what had happened during the Feast of King Veruna. A few days had passed, and while the festival attached to the holiday would last for another half standard week, Palpatine had no desire to concern himself with further celebration. He squarely blamed Anakin for this, though it was the sort of blame that was accompanied by a certain lightness behind the eyes. Anakin had never seen the Chancellor look so vital; he was certainly a healthy man, but something was different now - had become different following the Pas de Veruna and a thunderous reception by his people.

He was sitting up, still bare-chested but feeling as though he could probably wrestle into a tunic. A datapad lie next to him, discarded after having become bored with reviewing ship schematics and imagining all the ways he could modify them. He gingerly freed himself from under the heavy down duvet, swinging his legs over the side of the bed just as Palpatine swept into the room with a matte-finish med droid, no doubt brand new and state-of-the-art, trailing behind.

"Anakin." He knew enough about the Chancellor by now that, when he said his name _in that way_ , nothing good would come next.

"Good morning. I was just, eh, about to try my hand at wearing a shirt."

"You may attempt such a thing when TeeBeeOne is finished affixing a fresh bacta patch and bandages to your wound. Come now, Anakin. You are fully aware of your condition."

"My condition is one of boredom." Nevertheless, he sat up straight on the edge of the bed as the med droid worked. "You are the most impatient young man I have ever met."

"I thought I was the most powerful Jedi?" Palpatine pursed his lips. "Yes, yes, and one of the traits you possess which has jettisoned you into that position is exactly your impatience. It is excruciating." His eyes were alight with a strange humor, and Anakin smiled. He felt better than he had in days; perhaps Palpatine would want to go back to the Elder Cairn with him. Maybe they could go to the grove, perhaps take a --

 _"Ow!"_ he yelped, the droid apologizing in the modulated voice of a vocabulator. "My apologies, sir. I am applying a topical antiseptic which will cause some minor discomfort." Palpatine had sat opposite him on a large, overstuffed recliner; his legs crossed at the ankles, leaning to hold his chin on a balled fist. "Heavens, Anakin. I prefer your theatrics to you lying motionless in bed."

"So do I" he mumbles, the med droid skittering away when Anakin waves him off. "I am dying to get some fresh air." He rises, shakily but steadying himself, and walks over to the 'fresher. "I'll just be a minute", he calls out to the Chancellor. As he cannot bathe in the traditional way, he finds that when he begins the task of a splash bath that he lacks the dexterity in his organic hand. He re-emerges from the 'fresher, looking like a dejected boy. "I can't use my hand. Can you help me?"

Palpatine appears placid outwardly, but Anakin feels a leap of anxiety bubbling up within him. "Of course, my boy."

It is a slow process, getting clean without a steady stream of water. Anakin always felt like he needed to scrub every inch of himself, meticulously grooming himself so that Obi-Wan was forever ribbing him about his high standards of personal hygiene. When he stripped down to nothing, Palpatine dutifully averted his eyes and for reasons he is beginning to discern, this bothers Anakin.

"Palpatine" he says, low and slow with just a bit of grind from his illness. "You have already seen me naked."

"So I have" Palpatine replies, though he still looks away. Anakin frowns. "I probably reek."

"Well, that's not an entirely inaccurate statement, but you smell as if you have been ill. That is not the reason I turned away, my boy."

_Then why? Was the Feast just a show, the effects of intoxication?_

"I admit, I am a bit distracted." Palpatine begins a purposeful though not indelicate grind of a pumice stone, a musky, masculine scent removing the lingering wafts of antiseptic and fever. Anakin hadn't realized that fever had a smell, but he was more than happy for Palpatine having scrubbed it away.

He had begun from the top down, running the stone down the hard lines of his neck, taking great car to avoid the freshly-bandaged wound. "We should have done this before I brought that med droid."

"It's okay."

"I shall endeavor to be careful."

"I know."

There is no more talk as Palpatine works his way down, the stone a disembodied orb floating over the muscles of his arms (a slight jump and an apologetic flash of blue eyes), down the length of his abdomen and stopping just below his navel.

"Can you - from here?"

He's nearly disappointed, and it's not a feeling he wants to dissect at that exact moment. "Of course, Palpatine."

The Chancellor excuses himself and leaves Anakin alone in the 'fresher. He finishes, although it takes several minutes to do so, but he feels _clean_ after days of wallowing in illness and that's all that matters to him. When he emerges, Palpatine is holding a black tunic and linen pants. Anakin can manage the trousers, but the tunic is another matter. He lifts his arms, and Palpatine guides the Jedi's tanned, toned arms through, with far more gentleness than he imagined any being could be capable of.

"Feels strange to be wearing clothes."

"Well, your uniform was nearly ruined but the tailors were able to revive it." Sure enough, the gleaming white jacket and black trousers were hung in the large walk-in closet adjacent to where they were standing, no evidence of having been saturated with sweat or other effluvia. Anakin loved it in spite of himself.

"I - thank you, Palpatine. For everything. Not just staying with me while I was sick, but for bringing me here. It's changed me. Everything about Naboo, the feast, you; all I've known is war and fear. Here I know only peace."

Palpatine smiles, patting Anakin's arm. "I was more than happy to attend you during your illness. You brought great honor to yourself and to your Order by attending the Feast. I am certain that you would be welcome to join the additional festivities."

"I don't think I'm up to it. What I want more than anything is to - to go back to the grove, sir." He meets Palpatine's eyes, holds them hostage in the clutches of subtext. "Anakin", Palpatine breathes. "Today you will address me by my given name."

It is answer enough. He clips his lightsaber to his belt, and they leave. Palpatine lowers a large hood down just above his eyes; Anakin mirrors this with his own robe, cloaking them both in the Force so that festival attendees don't stop them with exclamations of admiration. The only accolades he desired would come from only Sheev.

****

* * *

"You know" Palpatine says, the relaxed and babbling brook of his speech having returned over the course of their walk to the grove "it is ironic that you would find peace here, away from the Jedi Temple. I would think that your Order's sole goal of attaining peace and balance would have allowed that in you."

And it's true; in all of his meditations and throughout Obi-Wan's tutelage, he _should have_ achieved peace. Any hopes of that had been dashed when he went to deliver his mother from the hands of Tusken Raiders, taking it a step beyond what duty demanded and killing them all. Women and children, too; but Palpatine had known this for quite some time. There was fear too when it came to Padme's fate - the terrible visions of her death had subsided somewhat, but only because he had been heavily medicated during the worst of his infection. He shuddered when he considered that his sleep later on may bring those familiar terrors back to him in dizzying color.

"I am not a good Jedi in the sense that I allow my passions to bubble underneath the surface. I do nothing to quiet them; even in meditation I open myself so fully to the Force that it's all I can do to maintain focus while that raw energy rushes through me."

"It gives one pause to think that that Chosen One, born of the Force Itself, would have to tame the essence of the very thing that created him. I don't see how castrating yourself emotionally will help anyone, although in wartime perhaps that is an effective tool to cope with the horrors to which you are exposed."

"That's one way to look at it. I think the idea is that we _are_ exercising agency over ourselves, but with restraint rather than running the risk of losing ourselves to baser impulses. But as Obi-Wan frequently points out, I seem to be underdeveloped when it comes to the ability to exercise that restraint."

Palpatine couldn't tell Anakin that Plagueis would slit him from ear to ear if he could see him now, fawning over a Jedi and waxing philosophical. He wasn't acting at all like the leader of the known galaxy, but rather like a doting, doddering old man with a powerful infatuation. It was unbecoming; it wasn't _Sith_. Did that matter? This was the question burning him alive as the shadow of the dark side had been lifted, allowing Palpatine to see himself with a fullness he hadn't since before beginning his training with Darth Plagueis. Can the dark side be purged, can the _Jedi_ be purged, with balance? Was this the key?

"For what it's worth, I believe that the Council is routinely, unapologetically, and increasingly hard on you. Here you are" he gestures, his slender hand escaping the belled hood of his heavy robe "fighting all over the galaxy, safeguarding the least among us, and all your deified masters care about is that you don't wank at night." Anakin erupts into a fit of laughter, and Palpatine can't help but join him.

"It's about more than sex, though. Quieting the needs of the flesh is part of it, but that means that we redirect our energy to be able to help people. That's all I ever wanted: to become a Jedi so that I could help people."

"You help _me_ , Anakin. More than you will ever know in a thousand lifetimes." They had come upon the grove, and Anakin was such a desert dweller at heart that the sight of water excited him far more than it would most. He strips quickly, throwing his clothes every which way (Palpatine mutters something about 'messiness' as he bends to pick up each discarded article, draping them over a log he dusts off with the sleeve of his own robe) and unceremoniously diving into the water. Palpatine jumps as he hears the water break, throwing Anakin's shirt across a low-hanging tree branch.

" _Anakin!"_

The moppy headed Jedi emerges, shaking his head back and forth, water and hair flying in all directions. "What?"

"Your wound. It hasn't healed; you were not supposed to get it wet!"

Anakin floats on his back, treading water with his legs and arms. "You'll take care of me."

Palpatine sighs, removing his robe and sitting on a large boulder. "I always will, my boy." It's all he can say in the moment, struck dumb as he is by Anakin's boldness. Is there nothing subtle about Anakin Skywalker?

"Aren't you going to get in?" He's upright in the water now, hunkered down so that only the top of his shoulders are exposed. He's pouting, Palpatine realizes, but not because he doesn't want to be in the pool alone; it's Palpatine's company he craves, and it doesn't take a nudge from the Force for the Chancellor to realize that something larger was at play.

_Something larger has been at play all along, but you aren't a young page stealing kisses between classes. This is here, now, and you had better make your decision before it's too late. If you're going to regret something, make it the kind of mistake that brings you to your knees, old man._

"Fine. Turn around."

He was never muscle-bound like Anakin; Plagueis relentlessly critiqued his slight bone structure, his big nose, the way he never seemed to tone or harden with time. Oh, certainly, the years of training still lingered in coiled, lean muscle under his skin; but he was simply not a young man, and it showed. The way Anakin stared as he lowered himself into the pool, foregoing the bombast of _jumping_ (Sith Lords do not _flounce_ , let alone Supreme Chancellors) caused his skin to break out in gooseflesh.

He swam toward Anakin, who was by now standing; they were in a deeper part of the pool, the water so clear one could even make out the smallest detail in the rocks embedded below, down beyond their feet. A familiar silence fell over them once again; Anakin closed his eyes, but Palpatine's remained open and wandering. If it was an invitation to thoroughly catalog Anakin's physical traits, he took it with relish.

Anakin dipped below the water again, remaining stationary but running his hands through a gloriously thick mane of dark, wet hair. Rivulets of water trickled painfully slowly down the strong line of his neck; trailing down, down -

The boy's arms were around his waist in half a sigh, pulling Palpatine flush against him. The Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Republic, for the first time since boyhood, sobbed against a solid chest, grasping at Anakin's back, kneading the muscle with his fingertips.

"Anakin, I -"

"Just be still" the Jedi replied. Palpatine smiled; the boy always heard him. Always eagerly took his wisdom and gave it back when the moment demanded it; and right now was one of those times.

They stood for what seemed like an age, holding each other and occasionally moving their hands in exploratory paths down the lengths of each other's backs. Anakin was surprised by the firmness his questing hand found; the sensory inputs in his cybernetic hand calculated the Chancellor's body mass index to be somewhere around 25%, but he wasn't a warrior. The way Palpatine probed every inch of him (Anakin had guided them to the shallower area, now standing at his full height and Palpatine at his), down to his buttocks and back up the lean set of his back, was everything he hadn't realized he needed. Palpatine had given up sex long ago, counting it as a distraction he couldn't afford and had no business partaking in, but this wasn't sex. This was deeper, and he was content to let the young man lead _him_. For once, he was not in a position of lording his manipulative nature (the proclivities for which he was named _Sidious_ ) over someone else. He was subservient to the whims of another, and that in itself was thrilling.

It began to rain; the weather had threatened it all day, though it didn't deter the sounds of recreation and joviality from beyond the grove where the rest of the feast-goers were literally dancing in the streets. Their arms did not loosen their grip; as the rain began to fall against their skin, Anakin only held him tighter. Palpatine returned the embrace, breathing deeply the natural scent of the younger Jedi.

They stood there for an era it seemed, and Palpatine began to shiver. One of the unforeseen consequences of shirking his connection to the dark side was an inability to manipulate the physical world to allay discomfort, but Anakin made up for that brilliantly. He felt a sudden and unexplained warmth, immediately realizing that Anakin was transferring some of his own Force energies into Palpatine through their embrace to keep him warm.

There had been no greater show of love which he had ever received. This was new, and terrifying, and he found himself suddenly and horrifyingly unable to maintain his composure. Anakin remained steadfast, dutifully wrapped around the Chancellor and muffling his plaintive cries with an immovable chest that may as well have been durasteel.

The sky becomes increasingly darker, the frenzy from the celebrations beyond them showing no signs of stopping. Palpatine is thankful for having chosen a heavy robe, knowing as he does how quickly the weather can change on Naboo. They part, finally, and dress in silence. Palpatine catches Anakin looking at him, leering even. Is this the same carnal fire with which he regarded Senator Amidala, or was this something else? Something special?

Returning to Theed, their hoods withdrawn and several Naboo, young and old, greeting them with deep bows and even fresh flowers, Palpatine recognized in himself that this living is where the secret of the universe is kept. Strong embraces, skin on skin, working to serve the greater good without imposing the ideals of extremism in any form. The Jedi and the Sith both did not understand the concept of balance, each inextricably tied to their own point of view and no other.

Anakin's purpose as prophesied was clear: to bring balance to the Force. And this is how he was doing it, one longing glance or one lingering touch at a time.


	2. there where the vines cling crimson on the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Anakin's miraculous display of intimacy in the grove, the Sith Lord is forced to recount the decisions and events which brought him to Darth Plagueis. Palpatine and Anakin leave Theed temporarily to visit the Chancellor's childhood home. 
> 
> An unwelcome intrusion leaves Palpatine with a choice to make; Obi-Wan reaches out to Anakin after a nudge from the Force.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I went deep with the details of the abuse Palpatine suffered at the hands of his father. There seemed to be no other way to do it that would have explained Palpatine killing even the innocent members of his family, to say nothing of the infinite suffering his canonical actions would impose on the galaxy. I apologize if this is triggering - it sure as hell was for me.  
> 2\. Yesterday I realized that writing this fic is, in many ways, helping me purge myself of a deeply abusive and painful relationship. In fact, the scene in the grove from the previous chapter was a completely subconscious and nearly blow-by-blow retelling of something that I shared with another human being; another human being whose darkness was greater than I could shoulder. As Carrie Fisher said, take your broken heart and turn it into art. Or silly fanfiction. Whatever.  
> 3\. Yup - Palps is turning himself in. Don't get comfortable, because the scenes I have for that are guaranteed going to suck. And by suck, I mean potentially make you cry.

_Funny you're the broken one_

_but I'm the only one who needed saving_

****

* * *

Of course he had to have known there would be gossip. While careful not to dote on Anakin in public, and especially attentive to using Anakin's title as a Jedi whenever they were in official company, Naboo enjoyed conjecture as much as celebration. Were Anakin not a member of an Order which frowned upon emotional ties (and, for that matter, Palpatine remained a Sith Lord even if only in name), he would have even embraced the theories regarding the nature of his and Anakin's relationship. As it was, there were ties still which bound them to their duties. A couple of days' separation would do wonders - and in addition to that, a change of locale.

His arrival precluded Anakin's by one day; he had given the boy strict instructions not to follow too closely; to keep entirely unnecessary security appointments with the Palace guard and the Queen herself. He had assured Anakin that the Naboo memory, especially during national festivities, was a short one; and the Jedi had believed him when he tucked some of the boy's rebellious hair behind his ear, thumbing the velveteen shell with his thumb. That's all it took, anymore. Nothing carnal, or sexual; simply the act of touch. An act that, Palpatine was now willing to admit, he had never experienced before their day trip to the grove.

The natural choice was House Palpatine. While the manor had no official name, many of his late father's colleagues simply referred to it as _Cosinga's Eyrie_ ; a fitting moniker considering his father's complete lack of compassion and an embarrassing absence of individuality. Defined by his ancient connections and considerable wealth, the Chancellor's father was an infuriating man of singular motivation: to elevate House Palpatine to the level of other noble houses, and to do so by whatever means necessary. Unsurprisingly, the white marble halls and stark gray stone reflected this. Dotting the entry points of the quietly palatial estate were banners in deep crimson, baring the faded family crest. When Palpatine entered the home again, the security code not even changed after he killed his father, he was not surprised to find the mansion exactly how it had been when he had last laid eyes on it.

And, as fate or the Force would have it, _laying eyes_ on his childhood home pushed him to the edge of his sanity. He had been able, thus far, to skirt a line between what his flesh had demanded the day he disconnected himself from the dark side and his desire to return. Now, faced with decades of harrowing sadness, a constant quest to prove himself to his thick-wristed father, anger and rage so great it had caused them to kill them all; it was all he could do to stand agape at the threshold, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably and his body yearning to be surrounded by that of Anakin's.

Were there any questions as to his loyalty now, they had been swiftly answered. He could not go back. He had to face his past, to reconcile it with a future he tasted heavy in the air as Anakin had held him, and then let it die.

There was anger, first. He tore through the house with a speed that bellied his age, ripping the great tapestries above his head and tearing them apart with the fair, elegant hands about which his father relentlessly tormented him. He barreled into the armory, cursing in his native tongue and yanking swords and ancient, brittle armor pieces from the walls, relieving them of their plaques and, one by one, throwing them with hatred and white-hot vengeance into the lake below the master balcony. The wine cellar was another matter; this was what his father loved, the _only_ thing his father had loved; viticulture had been a passion greater for Cosinga Palpatine than his wife or children, and the Chancellor took no small amount of pleasure in watching his reflection shatter after dropping each damnable bottle onto the stone ground, violent splashes of reds and purples discoloring the white-washed stone.

By the time Anakin arrived the next day, every last remaining vestige of Palpatine's father was gone. He replaced the banners with swatches of draping blue fabric, the same kind of material as his robe during the Feast of Veruna. His lightsaber, red-bladed instrument of malice that it was, gingerly placed behind a wall whose security code was unknown to any other being in the galaxy. He hauled out every book he had owned, running his fingers along the gilded titles and placing them along the wall of the once hyper-masculine armory. Where steel and hardness had once been, color and art now resided. His pulse only quit its incessant pounding behind his eyes when Anakin strode through the door, stopping in the great archway leading into the great room where Palpatine sat, reading one such old book. There was no time to bat away the mist in his eyes; and he wanted Anakin to truly _see_ him here, besides.

"This is your family's home?"

"Yes. It was quite unchanged and irreconcilably humble when I first arrived; I've made some _adjustments_." Palpatine showed him the library in which Anakin took a polite interest, but as usual the boy was full of surprises; when they walked out into the gardens, Palpatine was ashamed that he hadn't thought to pull up the brittle grapevines winding around trellises for hundreds of meters. The apple trees, gnarled and untrimmed for decades, shot defiantly into the air, their branches littering and saturating the ground with old, fermented fruit.

Anakin loved it.

"I had no idea you still maintained a home on Naboo."

"In fact I do not. Coming here was a strategic measure to escape potentially disastrous slander; but now I see that perhaps it might be time to do just that. At least, after the war." Palpatine considers consigning himself to the same fate as that old durasteel armor. This war had been guided by his hand, created by his need to control and dominate. He barely recognized himself in Theed, but now - now he caught his reflection, standing next to a tall, proud Jedi, and felt impossibly _small_.

"Well, this would be the perfect place to make your home after this is all over. At least, I think so anyway."

"As you can tell, it is rather unkempt. I hope to remedy that in the near future, when I'm able."

Anakin smiles coyly. "I'm good with my hands. I've even managed to plant and maintain Ithorian wheat."

Palpatine nods, returning the flirtatious grin. "Certainly something to keep in mind for that future, should that be the one willed by the Force. Come; I've managed to find one lonely bottle of brandy. It should be exquisite after aging for fifteen years."

Anakin trails behind him, eagerly drinking in every aesthetic aspect of the manor.

_If only you knew, dear one, the sorrow these walls contain._

Had there just be one more day before Anakin joined him, he would have purged himself of enough regret to at least feign enjoyment. As it stood now, winding their way through the garden and back to the great room, every corner reminded him of stinging lashes across his back; of proclamations by his father, red-faced spittle-spun words no parent should speak aloud. Entire dissertations centered around how _feminine_ he was, how obviously unfit.

Just as they are about to enter the manor once more, Anakin breaks away from Palpatine and walks to a corner of the garden. Time stands still.

 _Goddess - he_ knows.

"Sheev; what happened here? It's like nothing I've ever felt." Anakin's face contorts in sadness, his eyes narrowing as he bends low to bring his hand to earth. He breathes heavily when he does, eyes closed and still narrowed. Palpatine doesn't move; doesn't breathe.

"That" he says, unable to maintain his facade of composure a moment longer "is where the worst of it happened."

"The worst of what?" Anakin's eyes were still closed, no doubt reading the energies embedded there just as Palpatine read words in a book.

"The worst of _him_. My father. Come inside and I will tell you."

Thankfully, Anakin rises and meets Palpatine in the foyer. Another embrace reminiscent of the grove follows; just as he had then, Palpatine grips the taller man tightly.

"He was truly a terror", he mumbles into the material of Anakin's robe. "I still bear scars of his creation. The scars I received as a warning, as trophies for what has happened in this house."

They settle into the great room, Palpatine pouring brandy with a shaky, heavy hand. "He was a venerated and highly-respected member of society, but within this walls he was at best aloof and downright cruel at his worst. Inhuman, even. One might say that it was from him I gleaned by ability for politicking. I never let on that he hit me, nor that he -" Palpatine shudders powerfully and visibly, unable to control his physiological responses to the trauma he was reliving. Resetting himself, he took a sip of brandy and continued. "Nor that he did that which a father should never do to his son. It would have destroyed both his career and taken the entire notoriety of House Palpatine down with him."

Anakin's face was a mask of barely-concealed rage. "How dare he. You - he - I had no idea. None. You always seemed so - so well-adjusted. Free of scandal."

Palpatine drops himself into a remarkably well-preserved, plush wine-colored armchair. "Indeed. It was my ability to work through the pain of my upbringing - to use it to my advantage - that has allowed me to move forward. I did not realize before returning how quite at a loss I am, that I never took the time to unpack those experiences as it were; to relive them, to accept them, and to heal from them."

"I will do my best to help you in that, if you want." Poor, sweet Anakin. He too is an orphan; he too understands being alone in the universe.

_He also didn't kill his father and his innocent family._

But that was a different time. Here, now, he was balancing on the precipice of abdicating his title as Dark Lord of the Sith. It wasn't his design to come here and face that choice, but with their shared holiday over halfway complete, time necessitated an impossible decision.

It was one which Palpatine came closer to making with every passing moment.

"When the war ends" he says softly, "I should like to return here and live out the remainder of my days restoring House Palpatine; and myself."

"I think that's a beautiful and noble course of action. Master Obi-Wan says that healing only comes when we've answered the hard questions, conquered the fears within us."

"And you agree with him, I imagine? That people can be truly and completely changed?" Palpatine hates how his voice jumps a decibel out of blooming, aching _need_.

"Without a doubt, Sheev."

Palpatine slowly nods, taking another stouter sip of brandy. "I am loathe to question the wisdom of your masters."

"I'm not" Anakin says darkly, leaning forward to prop his weary head with strong, big hands. "Sometimes I wonder who is wiser; you, a politician, or the Jedi."

"I am flattered, though I doubt your Order would even accept that proposal for comparison. The Jedi are right to keep their distance from me. You being the singular exception."

"Obi-Wan is forever telling me that I must be mindful of you. And I am, from a certain point of view." The way Anakin looks at him could melt transparisteel; it is molten, burning, all-consuming - but it is not leering or infatuated. It is pure admiration, and perhaps beneath that, the seeds of what could be love if Palpatine wasn't careful.

_You have made your choice, and it did not favor being careful. It did not favor the Grand Plan._

He could go back, were he so inclined. No being was stronger in the dark side; not even Plagueis had been as profoundly gifted in the arts of the Sith. If only to look into Anakin's mind and gain confirmation of his feelings did Palpatine wish to return to the Elder Cairn to reclaim the fire that had dwelt in his veins only one standard month prior. Certainly the Jedi were grating and they most definitely ought to consider expanding their outmoded tenets, but did they deserve to die?

_A being who thinks thus cannot be called Sith. I cast you out from me._

The words oscillate in his brain, and he loses his balance - gasping and clawing at Anakin's chest.

"Sir? Sheev, what is wrong?"

"Anakin, darling, darling Anakin." For entire minutes, it is all he can say. The words he needs so desperately are swirling in his mind, forcing themselves from the grips of his last remaining investments in the dark side; but those are evaporated as well, reduced to the smoky haze of a formless dream.

When Anakin leaves him for the briefest of moments to acquire blankets, pillows, and wood to throw in the hearth, Palpatine huddles against the wall and shivers despite the agreeable temperature of the room.

_Look at you; weak as you ever were. It's a wonder your neck doesn't snap in half from holding a brain full of so much doubt and fear. How ashamed am I, that you sully my doorstep with your vile frailty. No son of mine._

_No apprentice of mine._

Their voices fold over each other, married in his mind to create an amalgamation of all the suffering he had endured and never spoken, enough hatred of the self to last for thousands of years. He could have stopped them as the Emperor; he could have slayed every rebellious world, every critical being who stood against him. He could have had all their blood, all of their fear, all of that abjectly beautiful _suffering_ had he only been strong enough to withstand the memories of his downfall.

"I don't regret killing you, father, and I would do it again in a hundred different ways in a hundred lifetimes more."

He speaks the vow softly, but Anakin hears and drops an armful of bedding and wood to the floor.

"What are you talking about? You look pale" he holds his hand to Palpatine's forehead "not to mention feverish." He sets up the makeshift beds, putting Palpatine's close to his. "I'll stay awake. I'll watch over you; I'm not going anywhere."

Night falls, and the glowing embers of a roaring fire warm his bones and send his soul into chaos.

****

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not a perfect Jedi. After all, his late master had been such a contentious member of the Order that he had been regularly thrown out of meetings, his vote stricken from so many records it made Kenobi wonder why he had ever been retained as a Jedi Master at all.

He had taken the meat of what Qui Gon had taught him, discarding the chasm of 'gray area' he had forever touted as the space in which the Jedi ought to learn to embrace if they wanted the Order to survive. It left him with very little, but it was enough.

It was nothing short of poetic that a near copy of Qui Gon's reckless nature with the Force would be passed to Anakin, but the waves of energy pulsing from across the galaxy and waking him up at night were not the leanings of a simply unorthodox man; they were the whispers of sedition, saplings of betrayal.

Oh, he had suspected for some time that something was amiss. Anakin was distracted, moody, combative, defensive. Joined with his usual impulsiveness and petulance, whatever was going on would come to light soon enough. He just hoped the nature of it all wouldn't be an insurmountable obstacle.

With Master Yoda gone, coming to someone with this knowledge and discussing its potential meaning was quite impossible; not to mention inadvisable. He needed confirmation that Anakin's conduct was unbecoming of a Jedi Knight, and he couldn't quite commit himself to the notion anyway.

_It's always something with him._

Accompanying Chancellor Palpatine to Naboo was utterly foolish and he had no idea why Master Yoda had pushed Obi-Wan to allow it. When he pointed out that Palpatine was a politician and inherently flawed, Yoda parried by pointing out that all beings possess triune traits: neutral, chaotic, and good - but that they all possessed both the capacity for good and the capacity for evil. When Obi-Wan pointed out that Anakin was injured and shouldn't have gone, Yoda countered by saying that the 'colorful people and culture centered around renewal' would help him. It had been an infuriating power struggle and one that Obi-Wan knew full well he would lose before it even began.

And here he is, gripping his lightsaber so tightly from frustration he fears he may squeeze it so hard the crystal erupts into light and takes him to the abyss.

It was asinine.

He had been dueling with Windu, or at least attempting to duel. The no-nonsense demeanor of his dueling partner lifted for a moment.

"Now don't tell me you were distracted. I could have lobbed off your arm just now."

Kenobi extinguishes his blade, clipping the hilt to his belt. Windu does the same. "You have bested me, and you can thank my undisciplined mind for that honor."

"What's troubling you?"

"It's Anakin. I feel that he is in danger, though I do not know from what."

"Hmm. Theed boasts the best security in the galaxy, all the more with Chancellor Palpatine onworld. I do not think your fears are entirely unfounded, however; Skywalker has a knack for getting himself into all kinds of trouble."

"Be that as it may, I don't think he is willingly moving toward it. I feel -" Kenobi closes his eyes for a moment, letting the Force speak plainly "he is being seduced."

Windu chokes back a chuckle. "A Jedi Knight, seduced? You were confident in his abilities when last you fought Count Dooku. He is the only Sith Lord to exist in centuries."

"It isn't Dooku I'm concerned about. It's the Chancellor. He's always held such power with Anakin; at times I admit it is almost as if he is Anakin's master and not me."

"Yes, I have seen this as well. Meditate on it. Let the Force unveil the truth at its own pace."

"I worry by then he will be lost to me."

"Then so be it. Are you becoming attached to the boy, or to the prophecy he is attached to?"

Obi-Wan shakes his head. "I do not know where I stand now beyond knowing that something is not right."

"That is all you need, old friend. Let the Force answer for the rest."

****

* * *

Palpatine did indeed furnish the remainder of the house in powerful shades of crimson. Dark wood floors were installed, covering most of the damning marble floors. Anakin hadn't mentioned his breakdown nor the revelation of his father's death, though Palpatine was frail in his grief. Anakin sometimes literally held him up, and while it was a staggering display of devotion, the Chancellor hated himself for the weakness it showed. If nothing else, being in his childhood home reminded him of all the ways not even being Sith could have delivered him from the anguish his father rained down upon him - even after Cosinga's death, he was haunted by a particularly harsh word or the abrasive crush of a robe sliding against his bare back, and the way he hated how his father's ministrations made him cry out in ecstasy and terror both.

Anakin must have chanced a look into his mind, enough to know that Palpatine hadn't _wanted_ that; he must have known that the body acts of its own accord and it wasn't a matter of pleasure. Cosinga Palpatine had been an evil man, and thus had passed down the proclivities for such predispositions to his son. And his son had been taught to hate himself first - hating others had come later, and at a much higher cost.

Whatever physical health he recovered by severing himself from the dark side had been lost in a few short days reliving the torrential flood of memories in the grand manor, sighing and sobbing against Anakin's cool, unblemished skin so much he thought the boy would toss him away for how needful he was.

But it never happened. If anything, Anakin held him tighter still; determined to protect Palpatine from the most dangerous enemy of all: himself.

Somewhere along the way, armed with a staggering talent for discernment despite his youthful vigor, Anakin sort of _figured_ that Palpatine was not entirely who he claimed to be. There was no great reveal, no romanticized begging - Palpatine had always pictured the moment he told Anakin that he was Sith to be somewhere between a sky-rending battle of wills and a HoloNet drama's declaration of love, imploring the sandy-haired youth to _let me help you_. It wasn't Palpatine helping Anakin; it wasn't the Chosen One, the galaxy's most powerful Force user, willingly accepting ( _gods, what had he decided -_ Darth Vader _as his Sith name) his place at _Emperor Palpatine's__

__side. It was a steadfast commitment; a choice._ _

Only Sith deal in absolutes. Only Sith, and Jedi. Anakin wasn't particularly enamored of having to choose one or the other; rather, when they took their meals in the kind of silence two interwoven souls can only enjoy, Anakin lived in both.

Palpatine, for his part, would tell Anakin - when the time was right. And, looking at his comm and feeling gooseflesh spread over his arms, now was not the time.

Count Dooku - he had told that sycophant not to disturb him, and yet, any order he gave the caped noble seemed to leave his recollection as soon as Palpatine said it.

"What" he snapped, the glottal, grainy voice returning. He had just barely been able to don his robe and cowl, and had been up until that moment enjoying one of the many books in his recently rediscovered library. Anakin was off meditating in his half-dead garden; it had been almost lovely.

"Master, the Jedi had discovered the role of Syfo-Dyas in the creation of the Clone Army. To a greater extent, they have learned what I really am."

"I told you not to disturb me. That is news hardly worthy of risking being discovered to feed your need for approval, apprentice. You disappoint me."

"I apologize, my master; I felt it was important, as what happened on Oba Diah is my failing and mine alone. I wish to ask your mercy, as it was not my intention -"

"Of course it was your intention to subvert me; this is how masters and their apprentices rule. The latter bests the former, and the cycle continues until victory is secured. I fear you will never taste my blood in the air, _apprentice_."

"Master?" The genuflected form of Count Dooku looks balefully at Palpatine, ready to beg and plead and push himself even further into a fate Palpatine himself should have enacted months ago. If, that is, he had been lead into the light sooner.

"I have no further use for you. Remain where you are until called for; and then I shall display the unmatched might for which I am Sith and you are an unworthy _worm_ , crawling on its belly for purchase of a title you will never possess."

The admonishment itself is difficult to deliver, even more is the word 'Sith' - it tears his throat to ribbons to say aloud. H ends the transmission abruptly, throwing back the cowl and holding his head in his hands. If this is the choice he must make - he looks out over the garden from his newly-appointed personal quarters, quarters he has shared amiably shared with Anakin over the last few days as the young Jedi practices an elegant Shii-Cho form - then he is, after _that_ exchange, well on his way.

He's spent the afternoon getting his affairs in order, knowing full-well that he may never again walk these grounds if the Senate has its way. Perhaps immunity can be granted in part for his knowledge of where Dooku is hiding, to say nothing of the cybernetic General Grievous whom he was so close to deploying - that monstrosity, too, would have to be destroyed.

Of course, it was obvious and it had been all day: he would be put to death for his treachery, for the plan he designed that had already claimed the lives of more beings than he could conceive.

All because Plagueis had promised to deliver him from the pain. All because conquering and death, he had said, would cleanse him of the way his father felt inside of him; the words that still bludgeoned his spirit so that he could not lift his head to look at Anakin - indeed, the only thing he wanted to look at anymore.

He kept his lightsaber, believing that the Jedi or whomever arrested him would need it as proof of his deceit.

Palpatine looked up, eyes bleary and stinging. Anakin had turned around, holding the blue-bladed lightsaber in his right hand and waving with the gloved left. He let out a sob, head in his hands; he knew Anakin could see him, knew that he would come running into the house with questions. Knew that there was nothing to say that it wouldn't be Anakin himself who would cart him back to Coruscant for his just consequences.

 _Ironic,_ he would have said to the young Jedi had things gone according to plan --

_He could save others from death, but not himself._


	3. out of a grave I come to tell you this

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grand Master Yoda communes with the Force ghost of Qui Gon Jinn on Dagobah. It is during this conversation that Yoda confirms his suspicions that Count Dooku is merely an apprentice. Qui Gon imparts his knowledge of the Living Force, pointing out that there is yet time to stop the great tear of the galaxy, and that it will not perhaps be in the way they had anticipated.
> 
> Back on Naboo, Palpatine reveals himself to Anakin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. It took me actual days to write this chapter, and even then I deleted what I'd already posted, cleaned it up and finished it, and then reposted. So if you're buggin' because you saw that I updated today and it's the same damned chapter - that's why.  
> 2\. In the canon, Anakin has no memory of the Force vision of his future as Darth Vader. The Force, satisfied that its course is now realized with Anakin and Palpatine joining together, reveals the truth of what would have been. If Anakin had retained this memory of Mortis in the canon, Darth Vader wouldn't have happened at all - at least, the likelihood is high that he would have done things differently.  
> 3\. Canonically, Qui Gon Jinn does appear to Yoda on Dagobah to teach him how to commune with the Living Force. In this way, the fullness of what the Force is working toward is revealed to him; but this is a foregone conclusion at the end of that dialogue. The Force vision Yoda has is similar, but obviously the part where he sees Anakin comforting Palpatine is not canon. As you can imagine, this is the chapter where things go off the rails.  
> 4\. Slashy slash sllllaaaaash. Hope you like it.  
> 5\. "Only what you take with you" is a line I took from when Galen Merek goes into the cave on Dagobah in the video game The Force Unleashed. He asks Yoda what's inside, and that's what Yoda tells him. I thought it would be fitting here as well, since there must have been some point prior to the grand unveiling of Sidious during which Yoda suspected the Chancellor was in fact the Sith Lord. Even in the canon I find it hard to believe that the Grand Jedi Master hadn't at least thought of it.

_'cause I need this hole gone_

****

* * *

****

Masters Kenobi and Windu had thought him mad; he knew this, and he had submitted himself to their medical tests willingly. Corruption by the dark side was not an option, but a voice claiming to be that of long-dead Master Qui Gon Jinn was not the machination of a war-weary mind. During the final examination, the voice returned with greater strength and bid him go to Dagobah, and so he did.

It was an unremarkable if not downright dreadful planet, but it was one that was saturated in the Force so fully that he nearly wretched from surprise when he debarked his light transport. Qui Gon wasted no time in revealing himself fully; a glowing blue apparition so detailed Yoda could make out each thread of fabric in his robes.

"And so you've come after all. I was worried my wayward apprentice would have dissuaded you; I'm glad to see that isn't the case."

"Surprised I am, though dissuaded I would never be. Communion with the Living Force, a concept too foreign for Master Kenobi it is. But not to me."

Qui Gon stilled. "How is he, my former apprentice?"

"Well he is, but conflicted. So too his apprentice is."

The Force ghost stilled. "Yes, of course. Jedi are not meant to be used for the furtherance of military might, but it is so nonetheless. Tell me; is the wayward Chosen One any closer to realizing his true purpose?"

Yoda sat on the least dampened log he could find, squinting up at Qui Gon with a mixture of annoyance and concern. "Impulsive is the boy. Harmful are his methods at times; but determined he is to make the correct choices in his path toward accepting his place."

It wasn't a lie. Anakin Skywalker was by far the most challenging apprentice to ever come through the Temple, and more than once throughout the war had proven an incomparable delight in pushing his luck, or his complete disregard for orders in favor of satisfying his own moral compass.

"It was hasty, to give Obi Wan charge over Anakin. I knew that is the way it would go, but Obi Wan refused the knowledge I imparted upon him then. It would seem he is still clinging to that which will mean the destruction of the Jedi Order; and, if I may say so, you are as well."

Yoda wasn't given to anger, and but he felt a flash of pure frustration simmer and die as quickly as it had come. "Always questioning were you. Forever questions the Force, young Skywalker does; forever questions the Jedi Order, Skywalker does. Valid concerns he has, but too misled he is to address them with care."

"Regardless, the time has come." Qui Gon motions to the mouth of a cave, beckoning Yoda forward with the unmistakable thickness of the Force.

"In it, what is?"

"Only what you take with you", was the solemn reply.

His initial steps were sure and confident, but after fully immersing himself in the cave, the air became thin. Calling upon the Force to aid his restricted breathing, Yoda watches helplessly as a vignette of terror is played out before him. A robed figure, shooting webs of electricity with one hand and cutting down Jedi with the other, moves through a crowd of clones and Jedi Knights alike. The hooded visage never moves so that Yoda may see his face, and before he can get a good look, the scene changes. A field, a lush, verdant length of tall, waving grass and healthy vines wrapped around sturdy and well-built implements, above which flowed an impeccably-constructed irrigation system.

Slowly, the cloaked figure stayed his hand and extinguished his lightsaber with its foreboding crimson blade, and an image of Anakin, divested of his Jedi Robes, placed one hand on the shoulder of the individual who had, just a moment before, laid waste to all he surveyed.

Yoda collapses and sees nothing but a void. Qui Gon reaches through the Force to revive him and, slowly sitting up, the Grand Master of Jedi regards his fallen comrade. "What is that?"

"The future. Not one of many, but _the_. What you saw just now is only accessible from becoming one with the Living Force, the only facet of the Force which grants complete precognition. It is not an ability to take lightly, for in using it, the living are able to see what only I can. Not all Jedi are able to do this. You were chosen because of your position, but above that, your ability to understand what it is that you see."

"At the center of this shift, Skywalker is?"

"Yes. There is hope, even if it comes from a source we cannot readily see, or accept. Especially not what we may want."

"Understand I still do not. The robed figure, see their face I cannot."

Qui Gon sighs, though not from impatience. "Master Mundi was correct in his theory that Count Dooku is not the Sith Lord, but merely an apprentice. The root of the evil is far worse; its architect is able to be turned, to be _balanced_ \- but the method by which this must be done goes against everything the Jedi Order has stood for since its inception."

"Help this individual, young Skywalker will?"

"Not just help; love. He must make an emotional investment in another person, and that is not something you or I were trained to do. The tempestuousness of Anakin, the humanity of him - separate from the tenets to which he is bound - will be what saves and restores balance to the Force. This will create a byway through which the galaxy can pass unscathed. The war will end, and so will the great evil that awaits if it does not."

Perhaps Windu and Kenobi were right to think him infirm. Yoda believed that this was the Force essence of Qui Gon Jinn, but his assertions around the fate of the galaxy - especially where it concerned Skywalker - were unbelievable. The Grand Master closes his eyes, opening all of his senses and silencing himself just long enough to come away with a distinct impression that not only was Qui Gon telling the truth, but that he had to stay long enough to be able to unfold the mystery to which he had been exposed.

"Teach me, you will. Learn this new way I must, or destroyed the Jedi Order and the galaxy will be. In danger, Skywalker is?"

Qui Gon shifts his luminous weight. "No, although he is in turmoil. There is no immediate threat to him; in fact, it may be that he has already accepted this fate without fully knowing what it means."

Yoda, having returned his breathing to normal, sits cross-legged on the log once again; his spine straight, eyes focused and half-lidded. "Teach you will" he repeats.

* * *

****

A cold snap signaling the beginning of the winter months blows through the valley, a thin layer of frost coating the twisted grape vines so that they glisten in the early winter sun. The air, crisp and bitter, burns Anakin's lungs as he hauls the last of the firewood into the home. He could easily maintain his own physical comfort through the Force, but Palpatine is not that fortunate. If the last few days are any indication, the Chancellor has temporarily relieved himself of the ability to self-regulate at all. Several tearful exclamations have seen Anakin working hard to keep the bedraggled Chancellor from imploding completely, repeating their previous habit of lying in bed together while one of Palpatine's searching hands traces an invisible sigil on Anakin's arms and stomach. It never becomes more intimate than that, but every time his fingers tease a sensitive patch of flesh (where Padme would usually go to illicit a reaction from her lover), Anakin sucks in a breath and Palpatine stops.

He doesn't want Palpatine to stop - hasn't wanted him to since their last journey to the grove. Padme and the pregnancy, the concern over her survival during childbirth, is a distant but still blazing point of light. Since retreating to the seat of House Palpatine, however, Anakin finds that his feelings toward the Chancellor have changed from those of protection to that of fondness and, to his horror, affection.

Balancing yet another complicated relationship was out of the question, but he had never made a commitment to Padme. The pregnancy had been a glorious accident - a blessing, as he had told her - but his duty to maintaining the integrity of the Jedi amid the unfolding strangeness was his first priority. Helping Palpatine navigate his mountainous list of regrets was second to that. Surely Padme would understand, having had to forsake Anakin for her senatorial duties on more than one occasion.

He knew that there was a side of Palpatine of which the man never allowed glimpses. They were short bursts of stories about his childhood, how far his father had gone to ensure that a young Sheev knew his place - and that was underneath his father's boot lest he ascend to a height greater than that of his own. Anakin's righteous anger was only quelled by the Chancellor's ability to calm him, to convince him that his healing was of greater importance than a vendetta against a dead man.

There had been no mistaking the confession Palpatine had made; that of killing his father. Strangely, Anakin wasn't repulsed by this admission; in fact, he understood it after having enacted his own vengeance against the beasts who beat his mother to death. Anakin knew that Palpatine was not who he purported to be. The extent of that had been carefully wrapped and hidden away, only to be brought forth when Anakin was ready.

Anakin felt ready for whatever had not been spoken aloud as yet. He built the fire with a particular sort of care - stacking the kindling first, careful to leave enough space for the smoke to filter upward toward the floo and out of the chimney. Palpatine's home was one of the few equipped with one, the ancient Naboo believing that the spirits of the dead were allowed to run rampant if excised from a home. The Chancellor did not hold to these old wive's tales; Anakin wondered if this small show of symbolism wasn't meant to facilitate his own healing. To release Cosinga Palpatine's influence into the ether, blessing it for the way it had molded Palpatine into the power he had become and sending it on its way.

It only took two well-timed breaths into the belly of the growing fire to set it alight completely, and the resulting warmth was intoxicating - not to mention the earth wafts of freshly-cut wood and resin. After having been outside for the bulk of the day, taking great joy in the sweat on his brow from something as simple as swinging a crude ax, he knew that Palpatine would be pleased and that was proof enough of a meaningful task. Perhaps there would even be closeness; Palpatine resting his head in the crook of Anakin's arm, happy to busy his hands with the languorous chore of reverently exploring Anakin.

Palpatine returned to the manor in the evening, by which time Anakin had already meditated and bathed. The Chancellor essayed a sympathetic glance at Anakin, pushing passed him gently to walk upstairs to their shared quarters. When the Jedi Knight attempted to follow him, Palpatine turned around on the staircase.

"There is - something I must do alone. I will rejoin you shortly." Palpatine's breath catches. When Anakin looks down, the small, pale hands are balled into fists and are shaking with the strength exuded to maintain the grip and - something else.

"Sheev, what's wrong? You can tell me. You can tell me anything."

Palpatine moves quickly for a man who looks so frail. He opens his mouth, then closes it - making haste through the hallway of his family home, portraits bearing the likenesses of his ancestors blending together in disappointed, angular features and muted color. "Sir, please. You forget that I was also sent here to protect you. Even and definitely if I must protect you from yourself."

The great man stops - right in front of the portrait of his mother. The line of oil canvas stretches down from the top of the stairway to his rooms, and the succession of portraits begin at the earliest known forebear of House Palpatine. He is standing mere feet away from the onyx-framed, foreboding mien of his father. For a long time, the only sound is that of the crackling fire in the sitting room below. Still, Palpatine does not turn to face Anakin. He breathes deeply, relishing these last moments during which he is the only point in the galaxy Anakin can see. Soon, in mere moments, all he would be able to see is a murderous impostor.

"Anakin, the Jedi - they are planning treason."

"What did you say?"

It is this moment that Palpatine turns around to behold a shrunken-shouldered Jedi Knight, his tunic rolled to his elbows with his lightsaber attached to a cockeyed belt, his eyes burning like an exploded star. There was no going back, now.

"You see" he breathes _in, out, in, out_ "they suspect me for what I am."

" _You're_ the Sith Lord?" His voice is immediately a fevered shout, and Palpatine blanches at the sound. "How?" He asks the question through a strangled throat, choking on what he knows is truth but that which he cannot believe.

"Anakin, when this began, I was completely driven to subjugate the galaxy; to create an empire. I was of this mind until we arrived on Naboo, and that's when I saw it."

"Saw what?" He hasn't reached for his lightsaber, standing at a rapt attention with eyes glowing from anger and sadness. Great, great sadness.

"Something I should have recognized long ago: you. Not as the Chosen One I so lustfully wanted for my own purposes, but you as a human being. You, for what you are instead of what you could have given my cause. And so I went to the Elder Cairn alone, stripping myself of my connection to the Force, and in so doing cutting myself off from the dark side. Ever since, my actions have been my own - untainted and completely separate from what I had so ardently worked toward. The war" his voice threatens to give out completely here, this being what is arguably the most difficult confession of all "was one of my own making. To use for the purpose of affording myself complete executive power over the Republic. This would have positioned me to create the first Galactic Empire, and from there, unhinged destruction across the galaxy. Though it wasn't destruction to me when I was actively pursuing that end. Now I see, Anakin. I see how the Jedi, while flawed, can bring order to the galaxy. I wish for this cup to pass from my lips, though by admitting what I have done, my fate will be what I would have exacted for them; and that is just and right."

Anakin doesn't know what to say. In that moment there are a multitude of things he could say: _I knew_ , _I won't betray you_ , _What happens now_. Questions form before he can ask, burning brightly in his mind and the pit of his stomach. His throat is constricted, wrapped tightly by emotions he cannot show but whose names are familiar all the same.

"I killed my father as a display of fealty to my new master, Darth Plagueis. It was through his tutelage that I learned the dark arts of Sith; with him I learned how to create and manipulate life. His skill in that regard was unmatched, but what I was named for was an insidious ability to twist events to my favor. I used this skill to wind my way to the chancellorship. It was not won on merit; no effeminate mid-rim pageboy would have been able to ascend to those heights otherwise. Plagueis _knew_ that the only path to redemption, to become superior to my father, and to repay him for the horrors he exacted upon me - upon my family. Being here with you has shown me, without the precognition of the Force, that there are greater means to an end for true peace. To balance the Force is -"

Anakin's head snaps up. His eyes look like incandescent pools of water, not unlike the sacred space in which they had consummated an emotional connection unlike any the Jedi nor the Chancellor had ever experienced. " - balance itself."

The words rain down on him like a hail of hellfire, stinging in their course but consumptive in their completeness. Anakin _understood_ , thank the gods, and that was what he had feared above all else: that the boy with all his fire and anger would not understand.

"We have reached an understanding, then."

Anakin nods soberly, his eyes not having lost their intensity. "Yes. I've - I've known you for most of my life. I saw a struggle, but didn't know where it came from. I couldn't put my finger on the fight between the darkness and the light within you. Here you showed me what you had to endure, why you made the choices that you did, and how they've shaped you. Sir -"

Palpatine schools a critical glance and Anakin settles. "Sheev. Let me help. If this is balance" he steps forward, pulling a shaking Palpatine into his arms "then the Council will understand. The Order will understand, the Senate will understand."

The Chancellor eased himself out of the Jedi's embrace, nodding. "I must send the coordinates of Count Dooku's current location to the Temple. After that, I imagine events will move quickly." He turned, walking into the sprawling master bedroom and gently taking a datapad in his hands. It takes only a moment, his deft fingers moving over the screen with surety and confidence. "They will wonder, and rightly so, how I came to know this information. Once your masters massage their connections to the Force and their own powers of precognition, they will see how this was possible." He finishes the transmission, tossing the datapad back onto the plush crimson duvet - there are still whispers of House Palpatine's history in the stately manor, his bed bearing the color of his family - and felt an immense weight shift from his body. His knees buckled, and Anakin guided him to a sitting position with his big hand on the small of the older man's back.

His eyes turn to the large window, not unlike the panoramic behemoth in his senatorial office. In place of rowdy air traffic and hundreds of servomotors rotating simultaneously, there is the surreal silence which always seems to accompany snowfall. It must have started shortly after he arrived home; drained as he was following a meeting with the Queen during which he hinted that the war would end in short order, he hadn't bothered to notice that autumn was well and truly behind them. He had stayed for an entire season on Naboo. It was likely the last he would ever see.

"What is it, Sheev?"

His answer is silent. Palpatine rises, strength having been restored to his limbs, and grips Anakin tightly on either side of the Jedi's face. He traces the sharp set of his jaw with one probing index finger, the scar he earned from a fight with Asajj Ventress (another aberration from his frightful designs; the guilt settles deeply into his bones so that he's almost brought to his knees once again, but recovers himself). Anakin closes his eyes, accepting the gesture and taking the liberty of its enjoyment. The snow continues its lazy assault outside, warmth from the hearth downstairs and the automatic temperature adjusters in the room acclimated specifically to their individual comfort. It is warm, much like the warmth Anakin freely gave to him at the grove; but rather than _taking_ , Palpatine _gives_ that warmth.

He plants a kiss on the rigid jaw, feeling it relax between his lips. Anakin turns his head to meet them, and the kiss is timid; searching, asking.

Palpatine answers by sliding his tongue across the taller man's teeth, journeying to find an opening and when it is given to him, the tangible evidence of their connection creates a vacuum in time in which only they exist. Anakin remembers how to move, recovers his ability to control his arms and gratuitously drops them to the Chancellor's thickly-vested waist. He unties the cincture without looking, letting it drop to the floor in a muted heap. There is no sound, no concern surrounding their union; only the purity of intention, the subtlety of movement. Never had they explored to this extent - only Palpatine's chaste circles traced along the ridges of Anakin's stomach, only the sympathetic glances when their moments were clouded by basic attraction and the recognizance of its futility. Now it wasn't futile; it was everything the Chancellor needed, and what Anakin had always meant to bring to bear but was bound by his sense of duty to both Amidala and the Jedi not to act upon. This is the work of the Force, even if Palpatine is closed off to its enormity.

"Sheev" he breathes, letting the banal need of it settle around the new galaxy raised in the kiss they'd shared. Palpatine pulls away, eyelids heavy but somehow, blessedly, completely awakened to his current circumstance. He takes Anakin by the hand, and the boy drops his lightsaber on the chair next to the bed, unclasping the belt gathering the tunic. Palpatine's hands are trembling, but his fingers are sure of their course as he unclasps the tie holding the neck of his robe closed. The top part of his chest exposed, Anakin helps him the rest of the way - but the action is, as the snow, painfully slow. Palpatine feels a certain heat, long since stifled and thought dead, spring forth from the core of him. An equally familiar tightness, one he had fought so hard to control, grows beneath his robes. Anakin removes his tunic with some difficulty - his wound is not yet fully healed, and he had been engaging in manual labor excessive enough to cause some semblance of pain, but not enough to deter him - and settles himself on the bed. Palpatine follows, completing his divestment with purpose and unbroken eye contact with a waiting, half-lidded Anakin. His hardness is obvious, pushing against the linen and perfectly outlining a thick though not overly elongated form. It would hurt, but Palpatine wanted nothing more than to feel pain; it was the least he deserved, even in the throes of what could very well be his final pleasure.

When Palpatine steps free of his robe, leaving the culottes on underneath, Anakin sucks in a breath. To see the Chancellor unclothed was surprising; he was obviously in paramount physical condition, though age and his admitted position in administration gave him a certain softness that Anakin attributed to that of Padme. He was no less beautiful, soft pale skin sliding underneath his calloused hands as the Chancellor of the Republic settled himself squarely on top of Anakin. Palpatine remembered the procedure, certainly, but this was different than any physical joining in which he had participated. Sliding Anakin's breeches down passed his knees, he removed them with great care; their eye contact unbroken even as the bare evidence of Anakin's arousal shot up between them, red and angry and yearning for release. As sexual pleasure was concerned, Palpatine was not overtly practiced; even as a young student of politics, his experiences were usually rushed and regrettably short-lived. No one had found him conventionally beautiful then, and he allowed himself to be used as a blank canvas on which to practice. His lips found purpose over Anakin's, however, and his hands seemed to independently know the map of him; the narrow hips, the long, smooth valley of his torso, sculpted and lean. The muscles of Anakin's legs worked, his quadriceps flexing and contracting, moving under his skin in a silent observance of the rhythm that was Palpatine's ministrations. He planted purposeful kisses, swirling his tongue as he went, winding his way up to a hardened nipple before capturing in between his teeth. The boy's back arched, and he pulled Palpatine up to meet his wild, promising mouth.

Palpatine sighed into the kiss, grinding against the Jedi whose erect penis was a force of nature, demanding acknowledgment. Where Anakin didn't beg for release, instead helping the former Sith Lord to build a mighty gale that would eventually wash them to shore together in a crashing wave of bonding. This wasn't about sex; it was about satisfying the will of the Force itself, and that was a sacred errand. Anakin's impulsive need for instant gratification had no place there, and for once he knew this and submitted himself to the invisible energies cocooning them in radiant warmth and light.

If this was the absence of the dark side, if this was true balance, it was a wonder Palpatine hadn't recognized its usefulness sooner. He clumsily removed his own trousers, gasping when his longer, thinner length met Anakin's scarlet heat. When the Jedi keened, it was all Palpatine could do to stay the course. He needed to feel whatever had been calling to them; at the Elder Cairn, in the grove, during Veruna's feast when Anakin looked like a war hero straight out of the legends of Palpatine's childhood. His permission was wordlessly afforded; Anakin lie back, legs parted to allow Palpatine passage into him - and deeply did the Chancellor go.

The unspeakably tight, white-hot embers were nearly too much, Palpatine's breath coming in truncated rasps. Anakin wrapped his legs around the Chancellor's waist, pulling him in indulgent slowness, exploring each sensation the further Palpatine sank into him. When they locked together, the Chancellor hips moving forward in one fluid thrust after another, Anakin's eyes reduced to slits as he watched the snow-white hair of Sheev Palpatine fall around his forehead, loosing itself from its carefully-maintained coif. Perspiration gathered on his brow, the anticipation of their coupling, long-awaited and timely, growing from a tempered ache to a complete release of pressure in the center of his chest. The result was a sensation he could only grasp at describing - certainly warmth, certainly the tingling build of arousal, but it was more. The life between each re-entry into Anakin, the contrapuntal reciprocation of their breathing; Anakin the subject, Sheev the answer. Perfect synchronicity through each breath, through each gasp and slide between the shimmersilk cocooning them; flashes of tanned skin, then Palpatine's own ivory without blemish, pushing against the scar-latticed tissue of his Jedi's war-torn body.

What happened in the moments leading to their mutual and synchronized climax, neither of them will ever be certain. Whether it was as banal and predictable as the Force accepting them as its emissaries, as the illustration of its balance, is unknown. Historians will point to that moment in time as a lapse in the Force, during which perhaps the aim of Darth Plagueis' life work was ironically satisfied: _life_ was created when the two men, Jedi and Sith, consummated their connection - though not in the same way as had Skywalker's physical joining with Padme. The obvious conclusion was made apparent almost immediately; that they were at the least linked telepathically by the Force, as Obi-Wan and Anakin were, but to a larger extent. Palpatine's self-induced absence from the Force did not make this connection any less powerful; in fact, that he did not possess the ability to draw upon precognition and meditation, the bond was all-consuming; the enormity of the presence of Anakin and their conjoined fates, blessed and consecrated by the Force, was what pushed him to fill Anakin with his essence. It wasn't the writhing Jedi, tall and gallant, although he was handsome on his own; it was in the incendiary light of the Force that he was most pleasing to Palpatine, for he was the embodiment of that which the Chancellor most coveted as a man and needed in a companion.

For Anakin's part, when it was over and his breathing returned to something closer to normal, his mind wandered to Mortis. Palpatine settled in the crook of his arm, his body a column of tangible exhaustion.

"On what vexing subjects is your mind toiling over, Anakin?" His voice is a gravely, grainy baritone. Maybe he'd even shouted - it was hard to tell. He found he couldn't remember the things he might have said, just a symphony of sensation with multiple world-rending movements, each mightier in scope than the last.

"I'm reminded of a mission I undertook with Obi-Wan and Snips to a planet called Mortis. Have you heard of it?"

Palpatine shuddered. Of course he had. "Yes, but I do not recall any official record of your having been there. What happened?"

Anakin swallows, staring up at the ceiling. "I saw the future" he said simply, as though he were talking about the weather. "Not one of many, not one possible future - _the_ future. My dreams about Padme were manufactured to cause me to seek you out - my attachment to her would have been my undoing. You went that far to ensure I would come to you."

Ah, but he is brilliant as he is reckless. "Yes. I had originally intended on seducing you not physically, but with the knowledge passed down to me from Darth Plagueis."

"I was told I wouldn't remember Mortis, or what I saw there; but something happened just now. I hadn't remembered the visions I had on Mortis before then, but now the memories of what I saw are vivid. Pain. Death. Padme's death, by my hand. The extermination of the Jedi."

Palpatine traced a lazy thumb along the slight undulation of a pectoral muscle, wincing as he did. "It was to be the final push to bring you to me. The elimination of what was, for all intents and purposes, your family - that was meant to be undertaken by you, as a method of separating yourself completely and" he is beginning to anticipate the weight of his despair at having to explain it all in detail, and it frequently takes his breath away "coming unbidden to me."

"But I wouldn't have been."

"That's how seduction to the dark side has worked since the Sith were a race and not a religion. They were animals and thus behaved as their instincts bade them - including answering the call of the dark side. I had no intention of seducing you in a traditional way; but the time I spent with you into your adolescence was solely for the benefit of bringing you closer to that goal with each conversation, each hour in your presence."

Anakin thinks on this, assessing himself honestly for the first time. His actions were unpredictable, lead as they were by vengeance in the case of his mother, and attachment in the case of Padme. To play on those strong emotions, to coax them from him - that would have meant ruin. It would have meant opening himself to the dark side, just as Darth Plagueis had orchestrated Palpatine's turning. Mortis had been a warning, but had he not gone to Naboo and been exposed to the formation of another attachment, he wouldn't have recognized that.

"The Force doesn't self-correct; _individuals_ do, and the Force flows around those actions and prescribes new outcomes according to the wielder. In my case, I am unequipped with the ability to see the fullness of what my actions will bring through the Force."

"Yoda" Anakin says suddenly, eyes snapping open fully. "Master Yoda is learning to commune with the Force in that way. If he's seen the future as I did on Mortis, he will also see what just happened."

"For all you know, Anakin, our joining could be a tremor in the Force that will have signaled Master Yoda of the scales adjusting. He will know to return to Coruscant, having had some sort of vision perhaps. He may already know about the coordinates I sent; if so, it is ill-advised for you to remain here. Returning to the Temple before my arrival onworld will ensure at least an opportunity for explanation."

"Obi-Wan is already aware that something has happened." His senses heightened, Anakin searched his own abilities and came away with a solid knowledge that the coordinates had been received, and action was being taken to discern their purpose. He rose from the bed, pulling his clothes on and staring out the window at the heavily-falling snow. The weather was getting worse - a smooth departure would be troublesome perhaps, but if he left now --

"So you must go." Anakin nods, and just as he does, the Chancellor's personal comm erupts into a series of desperate whirs and alarms. "It's an incoming transmission from the Temple", Anakin says, once again full-voiced and determined. Palpatine nods, throwing his outer robe back on just as the holographic images of Obi-Wan Kenobi and Mace Windu materialize before him.

"Supreme Chancellor Palpatine" they nod a solemn bow in tandem. Anakin feels as though he may be ill, but swallows hard. "We just received what appear to be coordinates from your location. Please advise on their use."

Palpatine breathes deeply. _And this is what you have amounted to, you sniveling child. Nothing more than a maggot fighting against the earth, unknowing and uncaring that its purpose is so insignificant._

"I have sent you the coordinates of Count Dooku's current location."

Anakin and the hologram of Obi-Wan make eye contact. Anakin is the first to look away.

"Your presence is requested at the Temple, Anakin. Not just requested: commanded. You have new orders."

"Yes, Master. I will leave immediately."

When the transmission ends, the proverbial chrono begins ticking down the standard minutes in a flurry not unlike the blizzard laying a blanket of pristine powder on the ground just beyond. It is an image Anakin attempts to burn into his memory as he begins the search for his Jedi vestments, discarded as they were over the last several days. Palpatine points to various places where the young man had thrown his tabard, his utility belt, his black roughspun tunic. The black robe, thicker than the variant he had been favoring during his leave, was thrown over the entire ensemble. The pauldron armor still bore the emblem of the Jedi Order, though its face was beaten with wear and damage. Anakin discarded it purposefully and forcefully, casting it down on the hard Kashyyyk oak. Palpatine's shoulders jumped to his ears with the abrasive meeting of durasteel on wood. The symbolism wasn't lost on him, but he can't help but fear for Anakin.

And then he realizes: it isn't his own fate he's most concerned with. He has, more or less, resigned himself to whatever awaits him when he returns to the capital. While he is certain that fate includes a traitor's death, his primary concern is that of Anakin's safety. Anakin's successful capture of Dooku and Grievous, Anakin's ascension to Jedi Master; even the health of Anakin's child. Would the mighty Skywalker infant come to know the completeness of their father's abilities? Would Anakin perish as one who knew about Palpatine's identity and said nothing? If so, what would become of the progeny he left behind?

What would ultimately become of Anakin. This is what Palpatine's mind turns on, tries to anticipate without the use of his once omniscient dwelling in the dark side. There is no way to know with any certainty, and this is what causes his throat to swell with an emotion he hasn't felt since his father struck him down, reinforcing his rage and jealousy and utter disappointment deep into his heir:

 _Fear_. The sole emotion, so Anakin has always been told and which Palpatine himself knows as surely as he knows himself, responsible for creating the path to the dark side.

And this time, he fights it. This time, he takes Anakin, now girded with his proud and stately dress, into his arms and what remained of his soul. When they part, they know it is the last time. The first, the last, the beginning.

"Prepare my shuttle", the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic grinds into his comm. "I must return to Coruscant immediately."


	4. there is not a dawn in eastern skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Count Dooku lies dead; General Grievous has been destroyed. As the Clone Troopers are deployed across the galaxy to restore order, the truth of Palpatine becomes known.
> 
> As the last vestiges of the Clone Wars are resolved, Anakin is forced to face his shifting relationships and growing instability within the Jedi Order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I could have gone ham and wrote all of the events after Palpatine sends the coordinates - the deaths of Count Dooku and General Grievous, the discovery of Palpatine by the Jedi - and I've toyed with that quite a bit in the last few days. When it came down to it, I wanted to focus on Anakin's struggle to accept what's happened and how to move forward.  
> 2\. It also occurred to me that turning Palps wouldn't automatically fix everything. In later installations of this series, the Death Star is still very much a possibility - but with Anakin and Palpatine working together alongside the Rebellion, there is little that can stand in their way.  
> 3\. I built more headcanon for Palpatine - there are some unhappy places in this chapter.

__

_Makes me feel like I can't live without you_

__

_it takes me all the way_

****

* * *

There had been one final opportunity to reclaim the fire in his fingertips. Plagueis' voice had called to him from the deep, at first beckoning him to return to his destiny with the strong language for which he had been known; then, when Palpatine had not answered, the voice of his long-dead master berated and abused - he was exactly what his father had done to him, and would never excel beyond the hatred he had rammed into his son. The pull to the Elder Cairn had been strong, but when he turned to look at House Palpatine before boarding the transport, the proud edifice of his home ( _his_ , not his father's; never Cosinga Palpatine's) made him reconsider. _No amount of power is worth losing this again_. It was an easy choice, though not entirely comfortable - to walk away from the dark one final time was like walking around with one's shoes on the wrong feet. The halls still smelled of sex and pleading. Palpatine gathered his robes and boarded his freighter, the reflection of his tired, blurry countenance in the hull mocking him.

When he had arrived on Coruscant, a retinue of Clones greeted him, their weapons held diagonally across their bodies in a guard's configuration - ready for action, but not expressly meant for violence. Based upon the other senators awaiting his arrival, this was to be a diplomatic envoy to welcome him back to the capital. No one had yet discovered why he knew where Count Dooku was hiding; no one yet knew that he had just effectively ended a war that he himself had created. 

Senator Amidala was there, wringing her hands nervously and wearing a gown of flowing Bothan cotton, ornate swirls of purple and blue hues lending an angelic appearance to an otherwise bedraggled countenance. Now that he knew she was carrying Anakin's child, it was clear to him that she had been hiding the pregnancy quite well; but there was a telltale swell in her abdomen that made the Chancellor keen, although from what he was uncertain. It was a curious sensation: protective, regretful; covetous.

"Welcome back, Your Excellency. I trust your time away was helpful toward recovering your health?"

"Indeed it was, but recent events had necessitated an earlier departure."

Amidala's voice is strained. "We would like your approval for an emergency meeting of the Senate, Chancellor. Count Dooku has been killed, and Jedi Master General Kenobi is en route to Utapau to apprehend General Grievous. It is truly only a matter of time until the war is ended."

This is what the Jedi had been lying it wait to do; he had known this since assuming his emergency powers at the beginning of the war. They would approach him to see that he lays them down, and if not, the consequences would be disastrous. He had no intention of not relinquishing that which he was granted, but the resulting confrontation could still be deadly; for he wanted so badly to tell them, to begin the long process of healing the galaxy - even if it meant ousting himself as the progenitor of untold suffering.

"Yes, I believe that would be prudent. I will be in my offices until then." Amidala nods, hesitating before breaking off in the opposite direction with the other lingering senators. "You look as though you've seen a ghost, my dear." It wasn't a lie; if he hadn't known better, or if he had been able to call upon the Force to intuit why she was looking at him as though he were a sharp-fanged predator, he would have thought Anakin had told her.

Padme nods to Orn Free Ta, who ushers the other senators - with a look that could have melted transparisteel - away from Amidala and the exhausted Supreme Chancellor. "In fact I have. Anakin - Jedi Skywalker - came to me before he left to apprehend Count Dooku."

"And? He was quite perturbed upon his departure from Naboo."

"He told me everything."

Palpatine nods slowly. "I am under no illusions regarding the nature of your relationship to Anakin. Of course he would tell you." It wasn't said with sarcasm, but Padme felt the bite of it all the same. _Of course, since she's pregnant with your child_.

They were silent as they walked to the Chancellor's private office. The large, scrolling window from which he had looked out on the cityscape innumerable times before was not so grand a consolation as it had been. He lowered himself to sit behind his sprawling, immaculate desk. Flimsiplasts and data pads were stacked neatly atop its smooth surface; all that work. All of that traumatic, destructive work when he could have devoted his time to fostering humanity throughout the galaxy. The heaviness of it sank into him there in a way it never could have on Naboo. He shoulders began to shake; Amidala sat down opposite him, eyeing him as she did; her brown eyes widening, as though he would strike out at her at any moment and catch her pulse in his maw.

"Anakin told me that you and he - consummated a relationship while on Naboo. I had heard rumors, but dismissed them as the infamously colorful imaginations of our people. You know how they thrive on gossip."

"Indeed. Anakin told me about your pregnancy; secrets are currency, as _you_ well know." Amidala's lower lip quivers for such a brief moment that Palpatine wonders if he had seen it at all. When the tears gather in the corners of her eyes, he knows: she loves him. She had probably always loved him with all the hope and ardor of a young woman convinced that she could turn the tide of darkness in the man for whom she would do anything. Strained amber light floods into his offices as the sun begins its descent; the sound of Amidala's grief is abjectly beautiful. He finds that he mourns with her.

"What exactly did Anakin tell you?"

"Your father. The things he did, how they molded you and brought you to evil. How you had faced that on Naboo, and conquered the desire to dominate. He said that there had been a Sith Lord long ago who was able to redirect his Force powers away from conquering and death - that he was able to use his great ability in the Force to protect those he loved."

"Yes. It was a story I told him to quell the unease from the dreams that had been plaguing him - dreams of your death in childbirth. He was despondent, searching for anything that he could find to save you. To save your child."

Amidala nods, looking beyond Palpatine and out the window. "And you had Valorum excommunicated for a lack of leadership. I knew then. I didn't need Anakin or the Force to point to your deception, Chancellor."

Palpatine is speechless, quite possibly for the first time in his life. "Your powers of perception are far greater than that of most Jedi."

"Am I in danger, speaking with you so candidly here?"

He chuckles, though it is a sound devoid of humor. "No. My abilities in the Force have been relinquished. You are no more transparent to me than the solid ground beneath our feet."

She rises, a newfound strength in his admission though he had projected plainer language from his former Queen. "You will require mercy in the trial to come. There will be no such mercy granted from me."

He had prepared himself for this, but the gaping wound from her words was immobilizing. He watched, helplessly, as she rose - steadily, particular attention paid to her movements as she balanced the weight of carrying a child. Anyone with eyes could see her condition plainly; no one had wanted to. The truth of it was inconvenient at best, and cataclysmic at the worst.

"Anakin had wanted to marry. I refused him, knowing that secret would tear both of us apart - but this child cannot know a father who would so easily ignore his responsibilities to the galaxy."

Palpatine can't move, can't breathe for the remorse settling in him to stay. "I understand."

"Do you love him?"

He palmed an invisible crease from the center of his simple black robe, swirled with gold. An acquisition while he was on Naboo, it seemed an appropriate garment in which to be seen during his final hours as the Supreme Chancellor of the Republic. "Yes. Do you?"

Amidala hesitates. "I love the man I wanted to believe he could be. I wanted to love him; but he is going down a path I cannot follow. A path I cannot see."

When Padme Naberrie walked out of his office, it was the last time the two politicians from Naboo would share space as friends. As the sun continued to lower its blazing mantle, Palpatine turned to observe the air traffic whirring and whizzing above him. He activated a panel on the underside of his desk, and a red schematic of a large, planet-sized battle station choked to life in front of him. Another access code allowed him to open a portal to delete the plans attached to the graphic - without hesitation, he entered the command to purge the data card. It was the least he could do. Perhaps actions in good faith would be what saved his life - if he dared to believe that such a thing were possible.

* * *

****

Anakin Skywalker strode purposefully into the Jedi Temple, robe trailing wildly behind him as he closed the distance between the entrance to the proud seat of the Jedi and into the bowels of the structure. The maze of hallways contorted into a twisted serpent of alabaster, seemingly unending when one has a specific destination in mind. Like most things about the Jedi Order, the construction of their dwelling brought to mind the endless pathways they traveled down just to arrive at one simple conclusion. The gilded self-righteousness wasn't necessary; the pursuit of truth is noble enough on its own.

He shouldn't be anything other than triumphant right now; Count Dooku is dead, killed by his hand (a fitting end for a man who had seen to it that Anakin would be without an organic arm for the rest of his life). Having received word that General Grievous had also been destroyed, the war was, in effect, over. The Temple was abuzz with excitement, anticipation, anxiety; there had never been such a singular, concentrated sensation shared by all the beings who dwelt there; it was intoxicating in and of itself, and the freedom of it propelled him further and his lightsaber beat against his hip in rhythm with his impossible pace until he saw his arms shoot out in front of him to open the door of the Jedi High Council chamber.

The only being who didn't jump their feet was Yoda, sitting placidly amid the clamor of supremely perturbed Jedi Masters. Mace Windu's hand was teasing the hilt of his lightsaber; Obi-Wan shot in between them all, attempting to shout over the din and failing miserably. Anakin stood, silent and brooding, as the assembly lost their collective minds.

"Quiet, be you, Master Windu. Asked for a report from young Skywalker I did. Not his fault that late he is for this auspicious meeting of the minds."

Windu stayed his hand, the sarcasm from the Grand Master's words settling over those assembled like the warning it was intended to be. "Skywalker, what news have you of Count Dooku?"

"Count Dooku is dead, Master Yoda."

Yoda looks down at his feet. Columns of failing light pool along the etched facade of the proud marble floor beneath him. On any other day, he might have appreciated the warmth of the sun on his feet or the way the light reflected each brilliant fractal. Not today. "Over the Clone Wars are. Begun has a new battle."

Obi-Wan, having successfully brought order to the clamor within the chamber, motioned for Anakin to sit down. The tall Jedi does, although the discomfort in the room is palpable - his presence is one that has brought hostility. He knows what questions they will ask next, and does his best to clear his mind and prepare himself to provide answers.

"Your leave" Kenobi begins, the color of his voice in a space between disappointment and judgment "was concurrent to that of the Chancellor for the purposes of being his personal security during his stay. Did you, at any time, become aware that he knew the whereabouts of General Grievous and Count Dooku?"

"Yes, Master. On the last night, before both of us left to return to Coruscant."

Master Mundi leaned forward, eyeing Anakin expectantly. "Did Supreme Chancellor Palpatine afford any knowledge of the identity of the Sith Lord?"

Anakin took a deep, full breath. He had imagined this moment, the moment during which he would say his name, would feel like a condemnation. Instead, when the admission left his lungs, it was spoken as a prayer.

"Yes. The Sith Lord is Sheev Palpatine."

Yoda was, when pressed to recall the date of his birth, unable to do so not because of a feigned attempt to keep his age a secret - it was because he truly could not stretch his mind far enough to remember a childhood that didn't involve living the tenets of the Jedi Order. He couldn't remember his parents, or his homeplanet - he had accepted, as any Jedi would, that his origins didn't matter as much as his destination. For all the hundreds of years he had spent a Jedi, this was the day he would come to regret an unnaturally long life - and a grateful inability to miss that which he had never experienced. The path laid out before him, illuminated by Qui Gon and his now resolute understanding of the future, had begun to press down upon him so that he felt all of those centuries catch up to him and physically drag him beneath the undertow of their unforgiving course.

"Very well, young Skywalker. Dismissed you are. Relegated to your quarters you will be until my signal."

He wanted to argue - oh, how he wanted to point out the shortsightedness of it all. The lack of justice, the blatantly unfair balance of power between the one person who could help Palpatine and those who would seek to do him harm. Even as he knew intellectually that Palpatine was the Sith Lord, would perhaps forever be branded as an engineer of what would have been unequaled destruction, to paint the man with such broad strokes was - it was unfair. And it was so like the Jedi Order.

"Yes, Master." He rises, and Obi-Wan makes eye contact with him just in time to see a glint of loathing. Whether or not it was directed at the Jedi High Council, he didn't know - but it was enough to make him question the motivations of his apprentice.

"Anakin" Obi-Wan croaked. "I will be calling on you shortly." He was answered with a curt nod, and the strong young Jedi walked out of the chambers just as quickly as he had entered.

* * *

****

Palpatine was sitting in his office, still looking out toward a horizon he was certain he would never see again when it happened.

The doors pulled apart, and four Jedi - Mace Windu, Kit Fisto, Agen Kolar, and Saesee Tiin - burst into his senatorial offices, Sate Pestage trailing behind them looking for all the world like a child caught raiding a tin of sweets, a mixture of concern and anger splashed across what was a typically stoic set of narrowed eyes. This time, they were wide and wild; he was saying something, but Palpatine could not hear him.

Time slowed. He saw their reflections in the window, and turned his chair to greet them.

For a moment, they stood in the foyer _staring_. Had he been able to reach through the Force, he would have perhaps felt their righteous indignity, their justifiable anger. It would have been delicious, had he chosen to stay on the path toward his empire; as it stood, his lack of Force connectivity only allowed him to read their body language. They drew their lightsabers; Palpatine raised one small, slender, shaking hand to wave them away.

When he spoke, his voice sounded to him as though they were in a wind tunnel. Everything was disconnected, everything made sense; everything was wrong, everything was completely _right_.

"You don't need those, noble Jedi. I come willingly." He rose, walking out in front of his desk, holding his arms out in front of him, parallel to the crimson carpet. His palms facing down, he looked into the vengeful eyes of Mace Windu. "I will not fight. I surrender myself to the custody of the Jedi and the mercy of the Senate of the Galactic Republic."

Windu motioned for the Jedi to lower their lightsabers, and each blade was extinguished and replaced on their utility belts. Agen Kolar stepped forward branding binders, which he secured with great care over Palpatine's slender wrists.

"Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, you are under arrest."

The words were like a baptism, fiery and freeing, white hot in how they sank into his skin but liberating in having been given breath. Palpatine shuddered, and was lead away by the Jedi.

****

* * *

He'd tried meditating, tried opening himself up to the Force and allowing it to sink itself inside of him. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Padme writhing in pain. All he could see was Palpatine's soft, delicate skin breaking against the compression of heavy hands against him, tearing him apart. His eyes stung, his lungs screamed for air even while he was consciously taking deep, measured breaths.

When Obi-Wan did finally join him, it was nearly dark. The shadows played out their own melodrama against the bulkhead, obscuring the tears Anakin had long since allowed to gather.

"Anakin" he says again, slowly, dragging out each vowel. It's a technique he had used before when his padawan was young and frequently awoke crying for his mother. It worked even now, soothing Anakin's fractured mind as Obi-Wan edged in to have an honest conversation with his apprentice for the first time in several standard weeks.

"Will he die?"

Kenobi's eyebrows jut. "I am unclear as to what exactly his fate will be, but if his sins are as well-constructed as you say, it is likely that he will die a traitor's death."

"Even though he turned in the end?"

"Anakin - they never truly turn. The darkness will always dwell inside of him." He sits down opposite the young Jedi Knight, searching the shadows for a hint of the lauded Hero With No Fear. He only found the visage of a scared little boy, still a slave in every respect. "What happened on Naboo?"

This is a complicated question, and one Anakin was prepared to answer. He knew the truth of what he felt for the Chancellor: a sure, steady love born of hours of conversation, of secrets told, of the praise the older man had showered on him when he was younger and fighting against the emotional severance he could never impose upon himself.

Anakin began, choking on tears. "I wish you could have seen him there, master. He was radiant. He wasn't the monster he told me that he was; it was as if leaving his connection to the dark side broke a dam inside of him. He'd been holding back all of the things that made him human once, because he couldn't face the things that had brought him to the dark side in the first place."

"I know nothing about Palpatine's personal life, but the events in one's life that would draw one into the arms of the dark side are typically quite traumatic. He must have endured great pain."

"He did. And then he realized that he was inflicting that pain on everyone else; on those who didn't deserve it, and then he - " Anakin stopped. If he took this further, if he told Obi-Wan about their physical relationship, it would get him ejected from the Jedi Order. There would be no going back.

"Tell me" Kenobi begs. "Please tell me. You have hidden from me for so long, I have often looked upon you and not recognized the man staring back at me. Please, Anakin."

"And then he opened himself to me. His broken heart, his bruised mind. What I saw was a man in love with his home planet, with art and music and everything we are told not to form attachments to. He was that person, before the darkness stole it from him. And he wanted it back, because he saw that in me as well. He opened every room in his heart to me, and I was able to see him as a whole person for the first time. Not as a Sith Lord who would have brought the galaxy to her knees if he'd had the chance, but as its _savior_." Anakin couldn't stop crying now, rolling the material of his robe's sleeves between his fingers and wiping his eyes with them. He felt like a child, but he couldn't bring himself to stop.

"Was your friendship with Palpatine - intimate?"

Anakin's head, lolling just above his lap in defeat, inclined toward Kenobi. He raised his head, and met his master's eye. He found no salvation in them anymore; he hadn't since Snips' trial. Maybe even before that. "Yes" he admitted, shrugging his shoulders as though a weight departed his body in its admission. "I - I love him. I want to protect him. From himself, from a galaxy who would have him made an example of, from a dysfunctional Senate and most of all" his voice is a single, focused column of barely-controlled disdain "from the Jedi Order."

Where Kenobi had questioned his apprentice's loyalty to the Order in secret, never had he imagined hearing the open dissatisfaction with the ancient religion outright. "Don't misunderstand, master; it isn't the Jedi who are evil, but it isn't the Sith either. Both factions exist in the realm of extremes; there are no gray areas, there are no compromises. This is why Force users feel torn between two realities. This is why so many Jedi fall."

"They fall because they are weak, Anakin, not because the Jedi have failed them. You know this - _search your feelings_."

"I have, master. It isn't the Jedi who fail them - their code fails them. The ability to form attachments is what keeps us grounded in our humanity. Even if it's overwhelming."

Kenobi's eyes flit to the floor. He'd never been exactly honest with Anakin regarding his connection to the late Duchess Satine Kryze. "Force bonds are unpredictable in how strong they can become. Even for a non-Force sensitive being, the feelings attached to them can be volatile. It's why we cannot form attachments."

"And yet we have. You and I." Obi-Wan stands, walking to the window. He's looking at nothing, the sun having set during the course of their discussion. He searches the stars anyway.

"Satine was killed because of her political affiliations - I'm not so blind as to think that part of that didn't have to do with me. Her death did affect me, as long as we're both being honest; I wasn't aware that I had formed the attachment to her that I did. I regret having done so."

"I do not regret either of the bonds I've formed, master. I can't bring myself to think that they're inherently wrong." He hadn't told Obi-Wan about Padme, but the way the older man looks at his apprentice is proof enough that he already knew. It isn't as if he was able to hide his infatuation.

"Master Yoda would agree with you at this point. He told me about his journey to Dagobah; he told me that Master Qui Gon came to him and showed him how to create a direct link with the Living Force. What he is doing now will dismantle the Jedi Order, and Palpatine's trial will be the final blow. You'll get your wish."

It perhaps hadn't been a fair thing to say, but it was the truth all the same. "I never wanted the Jedi Order to disband. I wanted the Order to understand why their tenets are making the Force seem like an unattainable fairy tale unless one says and does the right things."

Kenobi sighs, eyes still fixed on the same distant star. There was nothing left to discuss, but he lingered in the moment - Anakin having calmed down, speaking in a normal decibel level while Obi-Wan allows himself the latitude to remember his former partner with a previously forbidden fondness. If the Order would change, so would he have to change. There were no invisible barriers anymore in his mind to warn him away from ignoring the guilt, longing, regret --

But he still clung to those old conventions because it was the only way that recent events made sense. "We are being sent to Mustafar. There are residual Trade Federation representatives there, and the facility was used to capture Force-sensitive children by the late Cad Bane."

Anakin is surprised by this, having convinced himself that Yoda would want him to stay at the Temple at least until the trial began. With saying aloud that he was connected to the Chancellor - _bonded_ to him, he realizes - there didn't seem to be a reason to send him on missions for the Order. Of course there were remnants, individuals who will also need to be apprehended and tried for their crimes, but he thought other Jedi would go in his stead.

"Mortis - do you remember the vision you had? Of the respirator, the suit?"

"Yes" Anakin replies softly. Kenobi pushes away from the window, coming alongside his former padawan and letting one hand fall on the young man's shoulder. Skywalker flinches, if only because the contact upset the injury teeming with infection under his robe. Kenobi withdraws his hand, concerned.

"You need to be medically cleared before we leave."

"I'm fine."

Obi-Wan lets out a frustrated exhalation. "Fine. No heroics - you recall what your vision on Mortis foretold."

They leave together, Anakin silently acknowledging the warning. He would listen, this time.

****

* * *

There are two clone troopers stationed outside of his cell. Due to the high rank of its occupant (he hasn't been formally dismissed from his position, but an adjutant was appointed to act in his stead as a matter of protocol), they were armed to the teeth with high-powered proton rifles and shoot-to-kill orders. Upon his processing through the prison, he had been treated with the same respect as he would walking the halls of the Senate Building. He was given the typical prisoner's garb in exchange for his robes: a black long-sleeved shirt, black trousers, and black slip-on shoes. Far from the style he had favored as Chancellor and certainly an even farther cry from the hopelessly embellished style he had favored while on Naboo recently, it somehow seemed appropriate. He had been stripped bare of any and all pretense; he might as well have been a citizen from the lower-levels of Coruscant. For once, the appearance of being common didn't bother him. The illusion had been shattered.

The charges levied against him mentioned nothing about his standing as a Sith Lord. Rather, obstruction of justice during wartime, the ambiguous label of 'war crimes unbecoming the office of Supreme Chancellor', and a few other similarly generalized terms had been cited in the official slate of charges. He accepted them with a heady relief; one might even call it a high. It was over - truly - and Palpatine could only sit in his cell with his head in his hands, grateful for the fact that it was done. The trial would begin in one standard week, presumably so that the Jedi Order and clone battalions would have the time to tie up loose ends. Mustafar, Dooku, Grievous - those were the final hands to deal and win, and there had already been murmurs of Dooku's demise while he was being booked into the prison. Once those flailing hangers-on were eliminated, the trial itself would likely be expedited considering the severity of the charges. It was intelligent, he thought, that he wasn't branded as the Sith Lord; that would likely come to the public conscious organically during the legal proceedings, and he possessed a modicum of safety from any potential backlash being in solitary confinement in the prison.

He didn't catch it at first - another byproduct of being severed from the precognitive qualities the Force had at one time given him - but the two clones posted in front of his cell moved to the side at a crisp attention, their weapons held to their chests. The reason for their sudden movement was not readily apparent - it had long since become dark, and there were no windows in his sparsely-appointed cell - but the reason for the dressing down became obvious when the automatic door of his cell whooshed open and Master Yoda hobbled inside.

"Open the cell on my signal, you will. Only a moment will I be."

Palpatine's breath hitched. "This is highly irregular, Master Jedi."

"Indeed, but so is the reason you are imprisoned."

Palpatine had been locked away in a similar situation for the perceived flagellation of his father on the eve of a young Sheev's eighth birthday. Cosinga had left him in the wine cellar for four days, and it was in the arms of that particular bed of darkness that the tendrils of the dark side had begun teasing his mind. It was then that he vowed to take revenge on his father; but there was no such ill-will to be had here. This was deserved; that had not been.

"I went willingly. I am perfectly capable of assessing my own wrongdoing, Master Yoda." He sounded critical; Yoda, using a swift movement no doubt jettisoned by the Force, hopped up onto the bench next to Palpatine so that the Sith had to turn to look at him as they spoke. "Came to chastise you, I did not. Offer you my frank assessment, would I like to do - and perhaps illuminate you to some details, besides."

Palpatine was taken aback. "Is there anything else to say? I am Sith; or rather, I _was_ Sith. That informed all of the actions I took during the Clone Wars."

Yoda nods, rapping his walking stick on the durasteel floor beneath him twice. He seemed perfectly calm, sharing such cramped quarters with a man who had nearly created an empire. Then again, he had nothing to fear; Palpatine was as docile as a pregnant dewback. There was no need to assert himself over a Jedi. Apart from his own personal beliefs regarding the Jedi Order and their blindness, there was no need to _win_ anymore. It was as if the man he had been and the man sitting in the cell were to different people all together. He had given up on the wonder of that long ago, and simply accepted it for what it was: freedom.

"Loud are your thoughts, _Darth Sidious_."

His recoil is visible. "I no longer use that name."

"Hmm, yes. But haunt you it will, especially in the trials to come. Remorse have you for your actions?"

There is no doubt in his mind that the Jedi came to goad him into a confession he didn't need to obtain. "I am not unwilling to face legal repercussions for my actions. I am prepared to die a traitor."

Yoda begins tracing lines across the floor of the cell with his cane. "Death you will not see for many seasons to come. The will of the Force, it is not."

Palpatine is indignant at this point. "Then why this charade? I realize a trial is necessary, but if the outcome is predetermined -"

"The only one who knows this, I am; now you know as well. Tell this to you I do because understand I know you will."

He had spent so much time telling Anakin that dreams and visions are but possible manifestations of many different futures. If Yoda possessed ironclad knowledge of what was to come, it was more than just unprecedented for him to be here - it was unlawful.

"How do you know this?"

"Commune with the Living Force, I do. Definite are the futures I see; definite are their outcomes. Die you will not; reviled, however, will you be by those who do not understand."

"That's the entire bloody Jedi Order" he mumbled. "Present company excluded, evidently."

Yoda dismounts the bench and looks up at the Chancellor. "Sent to Mustafar have Obi-Wan and Anakin been. Return they will in two rotations' time, and begin the trial shall."

"And who will be the jury?"

"The Galactic Senate. Tried by the Jedi will you be. Trust the Force, you will. Trust me."

 _Trust_. What a droll thing for a Jedi to insist upon after all that has happened. "Very well, Master Jedi. You have my gratitude for taking the time to come and speak with me. Did they -" he motions to the two clones just beyond. Safety protocol is that the door to the cell remains open in the event that a prisoner becomes violent and requires submission; it would have been easy to hear what had just been said.

"Clouded are their recollections. Remember this conversation they will not."

Palpatine nods. The small master has an answer for everything, it seems. "Very well. I will see you when the trial begins, I gather."

"Yes" Yoda coos, drawing out the final consonant. "Your judge I will be."

A shiver tremors through Palpatine's spine as he watches him leave and the doors glide shut behind him. With nothing else to do but wait, Palpatine reclines on the cot and drifts into an uneasy sleep.


	5. there are the crimson leaves upon the wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It doesn't take long for Palpatine to find liberation in the form of an unannounced visitor during his trial. Anakin returns to Coruscant after an elongated campaign in the Outer Rim. A tragic death throws the galaxy into further turmoil; Anakin is now certain of his place.
> 
> The Jedi Council buckles under the weight of a changing galaxy. Yoda has visions of a resurgence of darkness, but

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. This is finished! UGH.  
> 2\. I want to tie this AU timeline with what happens in TLJ, as the byproduct of Palpatine's freedom still brings exile to Obi-Wan and Yoda. It stands to reason that Yoda knew all along what would eventually come in the form of Anakin Skywalker's grandson, and this is a way to bring that about while dismissing the creation of the Empire - although, of course, it comes to pass regardless as Tarkin, Krennic, and Erso are still alive and well.  
> 3\. Padme's death needed to stay canon, as did the birth of Luke and Leia, in order for this to work. The idea that Anakin's connection to Palpatine is volatile shows that the Jedi Order as it is currently still completely sucks, and that Anakin is making the best possible choice.  
> 4\. Obi-Wan still needs a reason to go into exile, and his reticence to tell Anakin about Padme's death leaves Anakin still feeling as betrayed as he was in the canon on Mustafar during their duel.  
> 5\. I worked hard trying to figure out what to do with the trial - I didn't want to write some long, drawn out nonsense that would only detract from the relationship between Anakin and Palpatine. Also, if you'll remember, Palpatine did go to the Queen while still on Naboo, after he and Anakin went to House Palpatine. The conversation regarding exile is uncovered in this chapter.

_I want you to stay_

* * *

****

His plea had been grudgingly accepted by the Jedi High Council, to the simultaneous jeers and elation of the Senate gallery. _Former Chancellor 'Not guilty'_ said the HoloNews, which was broadcast all over the galaxy; perhaps the most romantic coverage pointed out that Sheev Palpatine was a redeemed man, but that redemption could not be stretched to cover the hundreds of thousands of lives altered as a result of his plans. With the blood of scores of innocent beings on his hands, there would be no mercy. The information he had gleaned about the opinion of the public had been obtained by proxy; Sate Pestage still worked for the Chancellor pro-tem, and he was a regular visitor as he had been chosen to be Palpatine's solicitor during the trial. While grateful for the information, Palpatine wondered to what end Pestage would use his current position to further enact the plans that Palpatine had revealed to him over several years. He wonders if it will be discovered just how far his blackness had extended to infect everyone around him. The realization only served to compound his grief; he had created what was more or less a ruling council to be put into place upon his ascension to emperor, and he had allowed his colleague to believe that he would eventually reassume the plan; but that was not to be. He wondered what would happen when Sate learned that Palpatine was now only just an impostor.

Anakin had not been far from his mind during the initial phases of the trial. From what he had heard, Skywalker had accompanied Obi-Wan to Mustafar, then Ryloth to weed out the remaining hives of Separatist enclaves in the Outer Rim. Their final mission would be to Florrum, but that news came to him one standard week ago. For all he knew, Anakin could be back on Coruscant and looking out over the assembly of senators and other dignitaries, observing the proceedings and likely fighting with himself not to interrupt or otherwise derail them.

The boy was, if nothing else, impulsive to his core. Palpatine hoped that he would observe prudence in this case; he could simply not afford to make a scene when his own fate precariously hung in the balance.

He recognized that there would be no truth in telling himself that he didn't wish Anakin wouldn't proclaim his bond to a galaxy on its knees; the prospect of not hiding, as both Sith and a man who had become romantically linked to a Jedi Knight, was intoxicating. Forbidden and horrifically unwise, but intoxicating all the same.

On the tenth standard day of the trial, Sate came for their daily meeting to discuss legal strategy. Palpatine had always known Pestage to hold a rather smug demeanor, defined by harsh creases outlining a zygomatic arch almost as pointed as that of Wilhuff Tarkin. Today, however, his face had fallen. The lines were reduced to shallow tributaries of age; he almost looked kindly, something Palpatine never would have accused Pestage of being.

"Your Excellency" he still uses an honorific and a slight bow of his head to denote what he believes was a wrongful removal "I have just received word that the former Queen of Naboo and Senator Padme Nebarrie Amidala has died."

He has to sit - for several seconds, the strength in his legs is gone. Sate waits for him to say something - about how obstructive Amidala was, about what a bombastic monarch she had proven to be and how that translated into her constant buzzing in his ear as a senator. But the admonitions never came, and Pestage was left waiting expectantly, like a child holding out his hand for a treat.

"She was and will always be the epitome of the worst mistakes I have made. Leave me."

"Excellency, I strongly suggest that you -"

"That I _what_?" He croaks, finally turning his eyes to meet those of Pestage. "I have no desire to discuss my feigned innocence in all of this. From this moment forward, I shall represent myself. You are dismissed."

The lines of age, deep and craggy, return to the other man's face. "Sir, you will have signed your own death warrant if you willingly move forward under your own counsel."

"So be it."

There was no swaying Palpatine, even now, when he had made up his mind. Pestage casts a furtive and disdainful stare over his shoulder, assessing the black-clad man who was at one time the most powerful figurehead in the galaxy. "I wish you luck in what is to come, sir." He offers a slight nod, perhaps not the full honor he gave him when he first entered the cell, and leaves. The rustling of heavy brocade hums against the durasteel as he walks down the hallway.

If Yoda was to be believed, it wouldn't matter whether or not he retained Pestage. Letting him go had been a decision borne solely of profound grief; how could he have explained to one of his closest and now former advisers that he used Amidala like a pawn, especially when it came to Anakin? Her death was likely caused by the stress and strain of her life as a politician; being a senator was, oddly enough, a certain type of strenuous work. To add pregnancy and hiding such a grand secret might well have pushed her body beyond that which it was capable of handling.

Regardless, his head in his hands, he knows that Anakin's child will be motherless - and that it is largely his fault. Amidala was a hopelessly dedicated public servant, not yet jaded by the futility of bureaucracy nor the lobbyists with deep pockets. Nor, he noted as he let the tears fall freely, had she ever been deterred by the darkness she knew was within him.

He wondered if Anakin knew. He wondered if he would ever be able to tell him how sorry he was.

* * *

****

Anakin Skywalker stands motionless on the dunes of Florrum, overlooking a vast sea of coarse, unforgiving sand. He allows its sting to assault his eyes, the least of the punishments for which he was perfectly suited to endure. Obi-Wan was running unnecessary diagnostics on their _Eta_ -Class cruiser, having only flown it twice - once to Utapau, and again for the duration of their campaign through the Outer Rim. The small pockets of Separatists - crammed three abreast into makeshift shelters, their hope having been to hide from the long arm of the Republic for as long as possible - were easy enough to capture. It wasn't the work in it that had wounded him; it wasn't the fever from the still-infected wound that continued to rot under his skin no matter how many stimpacks his master applied. His pain was defined, focused, and total.

The mother of his child was dead. It was likely that his offspring had met the same fate - Kenobi wasn't certain, having been unable to lift much information from Polis Massa despite his high security clearance or use of the Force in attempting to convince the notoriously tight-lipped administrator to give him anything other than _"Her Majesty is dead"_. He did manage to learn that the children - twins, a boy and a girl - had survived. Their whereabouts were unknown. Telling Anakin would have sent the man into a tailspin, and it was a prospect he could not afford.

Returning to Coruscant carried with it a guarantee that his own indiscretions would be summarily overlooked by a faltering Senate, to say nothing of the Council who were knee deep in the proceedings for Palpatine's trial. Of course, neither Jedi knew anything about what that entailed; they had been gone for three standard weeks, a short mission by comparison but drawn into eternity in light of what was happening in the Core. He had purposefully ignored the HoloNews, but word of Palpatine's not guilty plea and his dismissal of legal counsel had come to him all the same.

Kenobi eventually joins him on the plains not far from where their ship awaits. He stands next to his apprentice, shoulder-to-shoulder, allowing the weight of their silence to fall heavily between them. It is a balm and a damning summary of their changed relationship; having once been so close, and now reduced to perhaps bastions of a different time with no place in the galaxy nor in each other's lives. Anakin has acted heroically in the face of what had been an especially difficult entanglement on Mustafar, though Obi-Wan recognizes that a sickness in body and soul is barely concealed under Anakin's skin. He will receive commendation from one side of the Council's mouth, and condemnation from the other.

"Are you scared?" The wind swallows the Jedi Master's words. Anakin nods slowly.

"Everything was clouded in confusion - even on Naboo, master. Here, now; even in the face of Padme's death, what has happened makes sense."

Kenobi thoughtfully tucks a curled index finger under his chin, twirling the close-cropped hair of his beard. "The Force is as mysterious as it is clear, at times. Do you believe that Senator Amidala was fated to die so that you could fully come into your role as the Chosen One? So that you could bring true balance?"

"Balance cannot be attained if it is one-sided." It's a sharp jab, but Skywalker's voice is even and unwavering. "The Jedi have to recognize that as well. The Council most of all. I lost my child today; I lost someone I loved deeply. That love blinded and freed me at the same time."

A gust of wind throwing sand between their robes kicks up, causing Kenobi to steady himself all the more. "It reminds me of Tatooine" Anakin mutters. Obi-Wan almost doesn't hear him.

"I imagine it is topographically similar, yes."

"There is no sand on Naboo. It's lush and green, teeming with life. With the Force."

The Jedi Master sighs, crossing his bell-sleeved arms around his chest. "I failed you, Anakin. I should have paid more heed to what Master Qui Gon had tried to teach me."

"You sound like me, master."

"No" he turns, locking eyes with an exhausted, sick Jedi Knight he only recognizes anymore in moments similar to this one. "I did fail you. I was forever exasperated because you wouldn't listen to me, you wouldn't be what the Jedi Order would have. Our Order is on the brink of destruction, and I let it happen. I let you fall; all because I could not and would not recognize you for the tremendous power you possess - both over yourself, and the Force. Not to mention others."

"Palpatine had always seen that potential."

"The former Chancellor wanted to use it to seduce you to the dark side. I never would have thought in a million lifetimes that I would be defending him now, yet here I stand" he throws his hands in the air, his proclamation greeted by an audience of trillions of grains of sand "defending a man who would have devastated the known galaxy. But what he did was deliver you to a higher order of awareness. One to which I was willfully blind."

"I did love Padme." His voice cracks; to use the past tense was by itself almost too much to bear. For once, Kenobi doesn't scold him for letting his emotions leak through his exterior. Kenobi basks in the depths of feeling from his apprentice; he can see why the boy hadn't wanted to completely cut himself off from sensation.

"I know. And she loved you as well; your child" he shoulders shake, but he wills himself to settle the unfamiliar rebellion within him "would have loved you with the same devotion as its mother."

This is a lie. Kenobi had been informed that the Senator had given birth to two healthy infants, a boy and a girl. They were, as he and Anakin stood on Florrum, taken to Alderaan where they would be raised by Senator Bail Organa and his wife, Queen Breha Organa. Their identities kept secret, they would grow up not knowing who their father was - but it was a small price to pay for peace so that Anakin could focus on the task ahead.

"I recognize that I am woefully unprepared to be a father. It was never something you taught me to do." There's a shadow of humor, but Kenobi just smiles wanly. "No, it wasn't. Nor did I teach you how to love another person; especially one so flawed as Palpatine."

This is where their opinions differ. Anakin is convinced that Palpatine is not a threat without his infamous abilities, but Kenobi is not certain that the manipulative Chancellor ever truly divested himself of his darkness. Skywalker is protective to a fault, insisting that the Chancellor was won by the dark side of the Force at an early age due to a horrifically abusive childhood. Obi-Wan had always believed that one's circumstances were never an excuse to harbor such rage that it could be weaponized against people who don't deserve it. If what little Anakin has told him is true, Palpatine is much more than a wounded Sith: he is a broken man, and that is perhaps worse.

"I had a vision of us, after the trial." For a brief moment, Kenobi thinks that he means the two of them. His shoulders sag when he realizes that there exists a measure of hope that Palpatine will live. But what could it hurt?

"And?"

"I revived his father's vineyard."

Kenobi almost laughs at the absurdity. "Farming?"

"What is growth, even in the physical world, without a balance of sun, water, the exact measurement of nutrients in soil that will produce the desired result? It is like any training you've ever given me, master."

Obi-Wan finds himself actually considering this, though he doesn't venture far enough to say anything. He opens his mouth with the intention of using this brief time to say something about Padme.

It will be a regret that follows him to the Jundland Wastes that he doesn't in that moment. Rather, they turn and walk back to the shuttle, where Obi-Wan pilots even though Anakin can get them there faster.

* * *

****

In the confusion and hysteria following the official announcement of Padme Amidala's death, the arrival of the Queen of Naboo went almost completely unnoticed. A state visit had certainly not been planned, but she had been informed that not only had the venerated son of Naboo and Supreme Chancellor been arrested, but one of her predecessors had been the victim of a tragic and untimely death. A company of clone troopers stood at rigid attention as the Queen debarked her shuttle, flanked by handmaidens and aids, in addition to her own not insubstantial security detail. Her culturally mandated stoicism had slipped, however, and when Chancellor pro-tem Mon Mothma approached her and offered a respectful bow, the young Queen let her own decorum slip. Mothma recoiled in surprise, but held her own composure with the practiced grace of a politician. The Queen of Naboo was said to be the most beautiful in a long line of young monarchs, and that assessment proved correct. Even in the throes of grief, Her Majesty was bedecked in silver - a traditional color to denote mourning on Naboo - in a rich fabric hugging truly statuesque curves. A thin swath of shimmersilk in a lighter shade adorns her shoulders, making her descent from the mirrored, highly-polished ship appear to be the assumption of a deity from the heavens. Mothma watched from the center of the gathered clones, a swell of pride quashed by a nagging inner voice telling her that Palpatine should have been standing here, triumphant in the face of the end of a war. 

"How did Padme die?" The voice is still measured, but her makeup is visibly running. She bats a handmaiden away who approached her with the famous white foundation used by the reigning queens. "What will happen to Naboo now?"

Mothma gestures for the guards to follow a respectable distance behind them, leaving enough room to react and maintain everyone's safety. The Chandrilan leans conspiratorially toward the queen, still sniffling audibly.

"Your Majesty, I am told that she passed during childbirth."

"How is that possible? Surely the medical facility on Polis Massa is well-equipped enough to facilitate something as banal as childbirth."

"Yes. We've launched an inquiry into the facility all the same. It does no good to confuse conjecture and fact, but it is my belief that she had simply lost too much strength being both a senator and with child."

"Of course, Chancellor. The rigors of her life are not lost on me. Even so" she has regained much of her composure, but the first stop will be to assess her aesthetic and fix any glaring problems, and Mon silently leads the Queen to her offices to do just that "that is not the entire reason for my being on Coruscant." The Queen turns around abruptly before they enter Mothma's office. "You are to remain here."

"But my lady -"

"No. Do as I say; the guards will see to the transport of the former Chancellor's personal effects." Not another word was spoken as two clones stationed themselves on either side of the door; the handmaidens and Naboo guards set out immediately to their appointed task. The Queen entered Mon Mothma's offices, the once-senator from Chandrila unable to conceal her shock.

"I trust you are wondering after the real reason I am here, and I will not spare any time explaining: Palpatine came to me while he was on Naboo recently asking for political asylum. Of course, I granted his request but I was not aware of his crimes at the time."

Mothma recovers quickly, albeit barely. She can't seem to keep ahead of what is happening, and this is a new sensation. "Yes, he is in the midst of a trial to decide his fate; however, I would venture to guess that the Jedi High Council - "

"Will sentence him to death. I imagine such a ruling would be predictable in this case. However, I must stress that as a member of the Naboo Royal House, Palpatine is quite immune to whatever power the Jedi may still hold at the conclusion of the war."

"I admit that their judicial and other political powers have been greatly reduced; the Senate thought it prudent to appoint them one final time to administer justice in this case."

"Why?"

She doesn't know how or if she can answer that. As the Queen stands before her, she is presented with a choice: the honesty in candor from which she created a successful career in politics, or the florid language of a practiced diplomat seeking to appease an audience. She chooses the latter, knowing that the former will not be accepted anyway.

"Sheev Palpatine has been revealed to be a Sith Lord. He fabricated the entire war, including its inevitable outcome had his plans come to pass."

"And yet he decided on Naboo to relinquish his Force connection."

"I will admit that was a noble decision on his part. If he is truly Sith, however, one cannot simply walk away from those proclivities." The Queen sits, and Mon opposite her. If this is to be a meeting of the minds rather than a monarch forcing her hand, so be it. Thus far, Her Majesty seems to be open to dialogue rather than delegation.

"His actions are not sanctioned by the Royal House, and we are in agreement that he must face a penalty for what he has done. This penalty will not include death."

"I regrettably have no control over the final decision of the Council."

"No, of course not. But if they are no longer recognized as a body with political or military power, are they in a position to deliver a just and fair sentence considering Palpatine's heritage?"

"I am not certain that's a concern that they have."

"No one is certain about that which concerns the Jedi Order. It is no secret that they struggle against their own tenets, having become outmoded as time has passed and the galaxy has changed. Palpatine is a byproduct of that struggle; have you heard about his connection to Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker?"

Her eyes graze the top of the Queen's headdress for a moment just before answering. Again, she should not volunteer what she may or may not know. She consigns herself to whatever the consequences may be. "Yes" she breathes, almost listlessly. She had heard, and she had chosen not to believe the rumors.

"I am not in a position to dictate who or what the nobility of my people involve themselves with, and I will not begin with whatever bond Palpatine and Skywalker share. In the first place, gossip has never been a pastime with which I've occupied myself; in the second, it may serve Palpatine's benefit to be influenced by a Jedi. That fact may provide sufficient leverage for the Council to render a favorable verdict."

She can't quite believe what she's hearing. "Am I to understand that you are here to liberate Sheev Palpatine, and sanction whatever relationship he has with Anakin Skywalker on the basis that it may heal him?"

"My people are strong in the Force. He is not the first Naboo who has been immensely Force sensitive. His thoughts during his last visit were - hm, revealing."

"And?" Mothma didn't even bother masking the faint tremolo of her voice. The Queen folded her hands in her lap.

"It is true. They are involved, though it is a powerful bond founded on principles beyond physical gratification."

"A Force bond?"

"Yes. And if my communications with Grand Master Yoda are any indication, this bond is a way for the Force to self-correct; bringing them together will allow for balance. Balance which cannot be attained if Palpatine is put to death for high treason."

Mon Mothma, in all of her years of public service, had never presided nor participated in a trial of this magnitude. What seemed to have been a straightforward process with a predictable outcome had suddenly been turned on its head. "Am I also correct in assuming that you came here to collect Palpatine?"

"Indeed. He will face exile on Naboo, and will be banned from holding political office on a galactic scale. Of course, there is one other caveat."

"Yes?"

"I also require that Anakin Skywalker accompany him as his adjutant for life. It is a measure to ensure that he will never enact the horrors he came close to exacting on the galaxy, and our own people by extension. Do not think that I came here to absolve him; as far as I and the Royal House are concerned, he is a traitor."

"Time served" Mon mumbles under her breath. The Queen nods.

"The spiritual cost for his actions will be he punishment. Whatever comfort he has found in Jedi Skywalker will be the only solace he experiences for the remainder of his days."

"May I speak candidly, Your Majesty?"

"You may."

"If Skywalker is to leave as well, you must know - he is the father of Padme Amidala's children. They became romantically involved shortly before the Clone Wars began in earnest. The twins, recently taken to Alderaan, are the byproduct of that union. They must not know the identity of their father, nor must Skywalker ever come to know that they are alive."

"Then it is worse than I thought." The Queen rises, and Mon Mothma with her. "I am immensely grateful to have had this opportunity to speak, Chancellor. I trust you know what you must do."

In fact she does. It is the headiest weight she has ever experienced, beyond her newfound chancellorship and above any action she took during the Clone Wars. "Delivering this information to the Senate will not be a simple matter. To say nothing of what the Jedi Council will do."

"That is why I intend to stay onworld for two standard days. As I am the receiving entity of an intergalactic criminal, it is my responsibility to facilitate as healthy of a transition as possible."

They aren't empty words, and again the Queen's dark eyes plead with her own. Two women caught between responsibility and service, each with an equally impossible choice whose outcome they will live with for many years to come. Mothma wasn't sure who stood to lose more.

"I will call an emergency Senate session, and summon the Jedi High Council immediately."

The Queen nods once. "I have complete faith in your ability to orchestrate these next steps. I do not envy you, Chancellor. It will not be easy."

"No" she replies sadly, eyes sweeping beyond the small microcosm of harsh truth their conversation had created, out beyond the confines of her offices and through the interweaving and constant bustle of Coruscant air traffic. "But perhaps it will have been worth it. Most difficult things are."

The Queen offers an uncharacteristic smile. It is warm and genuine, and Mon Mothma returns it readily.

"I will await your communication summoning me to this emergency hearing. I will act as the representative of Naboo, as there currently are none."

"Thank you. Your presence will be a show of strength; and we may need that to allay the fears of the Jedi."

As she moves to leave and begin preparations, the Queen's softened voice calls out to her.

"May the Force be with you, Chancellor."

She inclines her long, slender neck over her shoulder. "And with you, Your Majesty."

In a matter of minutes, she has sent communiques to all of the senators and the entirety of the Jedi Council. Her chrono continues to tick as she counts her steps from her offices to the Senate gallery, taking a lift down toward the Senator's pod - where Palpatine had administered possibly fatal decrees, and it makes her lightheaded to think that the last being who stood there was a Sith Lord - and trying to remember how to breathe.

****

* * *

****

They are near Coruscant when the transmission comes through on Obi-Wan's comm. Anakin has sensed that something was amiss when they left Florrum, but he couldn't stretch his exhausted cognition any farther to discern the reason.

"The Jedi High Council is being summoned to an emergency Senate meeting. The Queen of Naboo is onworld and has met with Chancellor Mothma."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but the feeling I get is that none of this is good."

When they finally arrive on Corruscant, the first thing Anakin sees is a HoloNet broadcast covering Padme's death - and the safety of her newborn twins. He has no sooner set one boot on the landing platform before he whirls around, piercing Obi-Wan with a look that could have melted a gundark.

"You knew." It's forceful push of precognition; more of a hunch than anything else - but it proves correct.

"Anakin, please wait in the Council Chambers until after this Senate meeting. We will discuss it then."

"I thought we were going to start over, and yet here you stand to defend your own shortsighted exclusion of me once again. I am a grown man, master. I deserve the same regard you would give any of the other Council members, or the Senate for that matter."

"You do not want to be in a position to make these decisions, Anakin. They involve the livelihood of someone you supposedly love, and his imminent death as a man guilty of high treason. How many times must I show you that the darkness isn't worth the light of your gaze?" It's probably the most spiritually grounding thing he's ever said to Anakin, and it isn't a criticism so much as a statement of fact. Anakin's feelings for Palpatine had grown, which similar absence had done in Padme's case. Obi-Wan all but pushed Anakin inside of the Temple, guiding him as he protested loudly and angrily through the maze of corridors leading to the Chamber.

"I mean it, Anakin. Palpatine will be present at this meeting, which is highly irregular. I sense that we are to be thrown off our course in potentially cataclysmic ways. We cannot run the risk -"

"Of me losing my temper? It's already lost, master. You betrayed me in your silence. I have _children_."

"I won't argue that point. I wanted to tell you on Florrum, but we had only just moved beyond the impasse in which we found ourselves when _you_ decidedly admitted to being romantically involved with a man convicted of war crimes!"

He tries to quit Anakin's company, and finds that he no longer possesses the energy nor the presence of mind to argue with his apprentice. "I do not know what lies ahead. All I know is what you have told me; I wish I could offer you comfort, and my actions have not helped create any brand of hope. I apologize, Anakin; for everything. I am _sorry_ , Anakin Skywalker."

Kenobi's tears are what awaken Anakin from his righteous anger. "I know, Obi-Wan. And I am as well, but - you have a job to do. I understand that."

When they part ways, just as Anakin and Padme had done on Mustafar, it is not as friends - something not quite disdainful, something open to mending if they wish it so in the future, but for now it is punctuation on a long string of scrolling infractions against each other.

"May the Force be with you" Anakin mumbles as Kenobi lets the door close behind him. There is no reply.

* * *

****

****

"The Senate recognizes the representative pro-tem, Her Majesty the Queen of Naboo." There are boos and jeers aplenty as Mon Mothma announces this, but she remains unmoved. All of her energy had been spent during their private conversation, and comfort could be taken that the most difficult address of all would not come from the newly-elected Chancellor.

"I come before you as not only a queen, but as an emissary for a new galaxy. If we are to truly capture peace, we must chase those who would tear it asunder. I have come before you to lay claim to Sheev'ir'asu Cosinga Anders Palpatine, One Heir of the Royal House of Naboo, son of Cosinga, and former Chancellor of our proud Galactic Republic."

"Order!" Mothma shouts as the roar climaxes to a deafening crescendo. The Queen's arms outstretched, the assembly is silenced not from Mon Mothma but from an historic and unprecedented proclamation.

"I have come" she adds, a strength in her voice which belies her age "to bring Palpatine to justice; albeit in a different way perhaps than which the Senate and governing bodies of Coruscant are assustomed. I have come to bring him home; to exile, and to humility." 

"Propose you do that Palpatine should be set free?" Yoda has a line to tow in this as well, having been cognizant that this is the way it would end all along. Not a single being utters a sound. The gallery is completely silent.

"Yes" the Queen says, simply and strongly, and the raucous chaos hits another, exponentially more dramatic height as Yoda pounds a vibro-gavel. A modicum of stillness returns as the Grand Master Jedi appears to be in contemplation, the other Masters of the Council speaking frantically among themselves, their faces red and fists balled.

"Not only shall Palpatine be released into my custody, but so shall Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. It has been brought to my attention that there exists between them a irrevocable Force bond; their lives are inextricably intertwined, and in this bond will be Palpatine's only hope for redemption. He relied heavily upon Jedi Skywalker when he was Chancellor; for his part, the Jedi's devotion stretched beyond duty and crossed into a matter of the soul. It is my aim to allow Palpatine to live in the shadow of his treason, and to contemplate the effects it would have had on the galaxy, for the remainder of his life."

Yoda narrows his eyes. "Accept this offer, the Jedi Council does." One more pound of the vibro-gavel sends oscillating tumult up into the stratosphere, the entirety of the Senate reacting so that no amount of protestation from either Chancellor Mothma nor Yoda himself could quell the angry, ecstatic masses. Palpatine stands below in a pod heavily guarded by clones and Coruscant praetorians, and it descends immediately as senators begin mobilizing their pods to get closer to both the prisoner and the Jedi - who have all left, other than Yoda, who remains seated and unmoved by the chaos unfolding before him. Palpatine, for his part, is openly weeping; there is no need to maintain a facade. The Queen meets him below, nodding once to the venerated son of Naboo and he offers her a truncated bow in response.

"My Lady -"

"I would speak with you upon our return to Naboo, but not before then." She nods to the guards, who take custody of him and unbind his increasingly bony hands. "Take him to the ship. Let no one stand in your way; if anyone is foolish enough to attempt an assassination, you are permitted to shoot to kill. One of my decoys will accompany you, and I myself will follow in short order."

"Yes, Majesty."

And then they're gone. By the time Mon Mothma has descended to the bowels of the Senate gallery, her olfactory sense is met with a faint remnant of the Queen's expensive fragrance, sweat, and fear. That is the only evidence to suggest that any of them were ever in the space. She stops walking to allow the scent of what was the most blatant subversion of democracy to ever pass through that building to settle into her own skin. Democracy wasn't dead, were she to honestly appraise what had just occurred. No; the body at their feet was that of their own making, of the Jedi's making. It was the death of what was, and the rebirth of peace. Around her swarm the Coruscant guard, beckoning her to keep moving but her knees buckle and she sobs when the weight of it pushes her down so far she is certain the ground will swallow her into the maw of oblivion.

The war is truly over. This is what she takes with her. It doesn't matter how - that will repair itself in time and with her leadership - but now she rejoices and she mourns, and the guards convince her to climb back to her feet and resume her stately course. And she does, because the galaxy can begin afresh with balance at its helm.


	6. go, for the winds are tearing them away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the Senate recovers and Mon Mothma learns of heirs to Palpatine's plan, the Jedi Order implodes. Anakin returns to Naboo, determined to honor his duty to the former Sith - even as the galaxy begins to change in frightening ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, people. There will be an epilogue, but this is where it ends. Just how ya'll wanted it to, although - I did really think about fucking it up there for a sec.
> 
> I've had the flu, and today I finally felt human enough to wrap this up.
> 
> I miiiiight turn this into a series. Not sure, yet. Let me know what you all think.
> 
> Had to tear down the final chapter and re-write. I noticed that I started getting sick toward the middle, and I wanted to incorporate some things that I had scrapped earlier because fever logic. 
> 
> Enjoy, animals.

_Not really sure how to feel about it_

_Something in the way you move_

****

* * *

Palpatine sits across from the Queen, her face bare of the ceremonial makeup she normally wears. His chest surges when he sees her unadorned for the first time, in borrowed pride that doesn't belong to him anymore; she looks so much like Padme when she was queen. It's almost too painful to watch, and when the monarch raises one expertly-shaped eyebrow, he knows that she meant for it to be that way.

"Your thoughts continue their transparent nature. I did mean for my appearance to illicit a parallel between myself and my predecessor; though this was not meant to wound you. By nature of what you have done, it would appear you do not require my assistance in that regard."

"No" he groans, leaning to rest his head in one trembling hand, "I do not." The journey to Naboo had been nerve-wracking, an exercise in restraint as he was left to wonder how Her Majesty would deal with her errant noble. As they sat in her private gallery now, away from discerning ears and prying eyes, the monarch was almost friendly; as if what had transpired had never occurred, and they were meeting as old friends. Of course the separation between them as ruler and subject was evident, and he had certainly displeased her - but there was more to this interaction than scolding and exile.

"Let me impart upon you one piece of information I did not give to Chancellor Mothma: I am the progenitor of Senator Amidala's death. That decision was not easy, but in light of your bond with Skywalker, swift action had to be taken. When it is discovered in the Polis Massa logs, the blame will fall solely on their shoulders. Naboo will never be implicated in her death."

His face melts. The tears, which have not ceased since he was set free and the trial was dissolved, poured from him without restraint. "Why?" It was the only question he could think to ask; the only thing that made any sense to say. The logic in it was nothing if not elegant; to illustrate how easily perspectives can shift when the casualties of one's designs include unintended consequences.

"This was a decision necessitated by multiple factors, which you do not yet possess the clearance to know. However, I can safely say that Amidala was, while a stalwart champion of her people, a highly volatile variable in your bond with Jedi Skywalker. Even that her children live present future difficulty, as there are whispers that the Republic will yet become an empire - even without you at its helm."

"That was the intention at one time. I cannot deny that. I will content myself with the knowledge that my hands are at least washed of that."

"Indeed." The Queen rises to her feet, signaling for Palpatine to do the same. When he does, she approaches him mere inches from his face. "House Palpatine will die with you. You have not produced an heir, I assume?"

"No. Anything that did not serve my plan was ignored."

"Good. Then House Palpatine will endure only through the children Skywalker sired. They are as much yours as they are his. Naboo recognizes them as nobility due to their mother's regnal history - I will attribute them to you, considering your bond with the Jedi."

"What shall become of them? The Order?"

The Queen offers a non-committal shrug, her neck stiff and constrained in a high-necked wine-colored collar. "That is neither my nor your concern at this juncture. The galaxy will continue without you, Palpatine. Learn to accept this."

He is dismissed without much fanfare. The earlier portion of their meeting had included an offer of a position as the Queen's chief administrator, which he accepted with no small amount of shame and humility. While he was no longer to hold galactic office, Her Majesty had said, he can still be of use to Naboo - untouched as it was by his dark side aspirations. It had been odd to the Queen, that he had left his homeworld virtually untouched when it came to the Clone Wars. Naboo had been a backdrop for earlier conflicts, but he had done his best to avoid any noteworthy battles or confrontations, Qui Gon Jinn aside, and that had been his saving grace where the Queen was concerned.

Arriving to House Palpatine, he wearily enters his access code into the terminal by the door. He's somehow surprised when the doors part and he is allowed to enter his home. The cargo cases containing his clothing and other items - the ominous shapes of what he knew were his collection of Sith artifacts mocking him from the far side of the foyer - could wait. His mental faculties could be stretched far enough to fish out the bottle of Corellian brandy he had shared with Anakin several standard weeks prior. When the ice hit the bottom of the crystal glass, his mouth upturned in something like a smile. Probably the closest he had come since the last time he had seen Anakin.

Anakin. It would likely be several days before he joined him, and that would lend enough time to ease into his new responsibilities as Theed's administrator. It was boring flimsi pushing - data entry, balancing the accounts of the Palace, ensuring that the royal coin and diplomatic guests to Naboo were accounted for and accommodated. It was nothing; a balm meant to allow him to still serve his people, though not in a meaningful capacity. He would remain a figurehead; someone to look upon with favor for who he was, but abhorrence for what he had done. That seemed a fitting and appropriate sentence - not to mention favorable over death.

His vast collection of Sith artifacts would need to be dealt with discretely. He dragged the bulky cases to a hidden compartment behind an ornate statue of one of his ancestors, activating another keypad as a large door seamlessly inlaid into the surrounding structure of the wall slid open. Anakin would deal with that; he would need him for the strength to dispense with those final trappings of his former life.

Oh, he still thought of himself as Sith. Once taken, that mantle cannot be so easily discarded; while no longer an active Sith Lord, he recognized that there would always be some semblance of darkness.

And Anakin - his bond and his future - would always rise to meet it.

****

* * *

Somehow, Anakin had remained in the Council Chamber just long enough for Obi-Wan and the entire sitting Jedi High Council to come barreling through the door, arguing and shouting as they went. Yoda followed silently behind on his hoverboard; if the context of the situation hadn't been known to him, Anakin might have laughed at the asinine dichotomy represented in red-faced masters and one perfectly calm Grand Master.

"Be seated, you all will be. Much we have to discuss."

Skywalker turns around to leave, but Yoda objects. "Stay you will, young Skywalker. Directly involved in this decision, you are."

He sits again, this time next to Obi-Wan.

"Let me attempt to understand what just happened", Master Windu begins. Yoda might as well have been shooting meteors from his eyes, crashing chaos into a master threatening to become insubordinate. "The man nearly turns the Republic into an empire, takes control of the galaxy as a _known Sith Lord_ , and we just let him go. Is my assessment correct?"

Yoda sighs. "A certain point of view do you see, and only that point. Know you do not what I saw on Dagobah; who I saw. The future I saw."

"There are infinite possibilities for the futures the Force constructs. And besides, if we do not know what you do, perhaps we ought to know." Kenobi's sounds strained, full to the brim of an emotion Anakin has trouble identifying.

"Certain this future was. Ordained by fate, and the Force, Palpatine's acquittal was. Sorry I am that these proceedings have brought the Jedi Order to its knees; unknowing am I of our fate, but certain I am of one thing: go into exile, I must. Disbanded indefinitely will the Jedi Order become this day."

The statement is greeted with abiding silence. Anakin chances saying something, hoping it will not fall on deaf ears.

"I realize that many of you think this my fault. I assure you, it was never my intention to - to become involved with the Chancellor as I have. Our lives are forged in things stronger than the dark or light on their own; things I didn't understand until I came to experience them firsthand on Naboo, in the context of Master Yoda's recent knowledge. I am prepared to be expelled from the Jedi Order."

"Leave us, you will not. Resides elsewhere, does your fate. Willed it so has the Force; go you will to Naboo, and remain with Palpatine. Provide balance you will, to rise against his darkness. The Chosen One you still are."

The Jedi Order was indefinitely disbanded as a result of that statement. No official record of a vote exists, but it is widely understood that the decision to dissolve fell on Grand Master Yoda. When the younglings still in training were all safely seen off to their planets of origin, each Jedi Master went into a self-imposed exile. There was a pact not to disclose their locations for purposes of safety - the Senate would come to them for answers they didn't have regarding Palpatine's release into the custody of the Queen - and there were still whispers of plans to move forward with the deposed Chancellor's dark vision for the future of the Republic.

Anakin and Obi-Wan were the last to leave the Temple, charged as they were with seeing the younglings off and ensuring that any Jedi relics were safely stored. They worked with the same focused intensity they had during the Clone Wars; neither said anything to the other beyond communication necessary to complete their tasks. The time for talk would come later, and there was comfort enough in that procrastination.

Lightsabers remained with their owners. Even Anakin, who as far as Kenobi was concerned, should have been defrocked. When they finally complete the task of packing away the Jedi, they meet again on the landing platform, both of their transports primed and ready for departure. They stood in the shadow of the venerable Jedi Temple, once flooded with life and the Force. Now it felt empty, a vacuum of intention - and failure besides.

"You know this shouldn't have been how things ended. Palpatine's motivations where you're concerned are still unclear to me. _Love_ " he spits it out like venom, like it isn't going to be what saves Anakin and Palpatine and the Jedi and the galaxy itself "is not the only thing driving him. There has to be something more, and I urge you - I beg you, Anakin, please: be wary of him."

An uncharacteristic rain begins to fall on Coruscant, likely purposefully programmed into the WeatherNet. Anakin briefly let himself remember the grove; the way Palpatine's body coiled around his, seeking comfort and forgiveness long before what he had done had been given breath. He remembered how wounded he was, his arms clinging to Anakin's own as if sinking into the clear water was tantamount to allowing himself to slip away forever. It wasn't evil he sought to reap on the galaxy; what he had wanted was to become powerful enough so to be above what Plagueis and his father had done to him. To be remembered as a formidable force, to be immortalized as the supreme ruler of the galaxy. Who could subvert such a being? Palpatine's motivations were clear to Anakin, but not to Obi-Wan. He was still blinded by the singular vision with which he attempted and failed to inculcate in Anakin, and that is why they stood so close together, trying to pull apart but unwilling to do so.

He remembered lazy afternoons spent in Palpatine's crimson office, discussing his rocky transition and his talents when he was young, his padawan braid a misnomer for how the Chancellor considered his unparalleled gifts in the Force. What's more, the Chancellor had been right.

It is because of this that Kenobi, were he honest, was going into exile just as much because of the disruption of his Order as he was for the way he had mistreated Anakin. For the way he had undervalued and underestimated his power, and for the way he refused to help the man cultivate it. Most of all, for his jealousy that Palpatine's tutelage had inadvertently given way to a bond far stronger than any Kenobi had enjoyed with Anakin. Obi-Wan let himself touch this covetousness, tracing its shape with his mind's eye. It's an unfamiliar sensation, but the closest he can come to a description is calling it regret.

"I will" Anakin finally says on a sharpened edge. "I cannot explain the ways that Palpatine is deserving of forgiveness. He may yet be useful when and if those who would see the Republic destroyed rise up to create a facsimile of his once-intended empire."

It's a prospect Kenobi is unable to audit. Sensing this, Anakin adds "Perhaps our time without the structure of the Order will allow us to come to our own conclusions."

Skywalker fidgets, an enduring habit Kenobi stopped haranguing him about long ago. Without thinking, Obi-Wan takes Anakin's large, calloused hands in his own. These are not the hands of a frightened boy who tugged at his padawan robes; these were sure hands, those of a man no longer a slave - perhaps he still was, from a certain point of view.

"I relinquish you of my charge, Anakin Skywalker. Go boldly in the Force, and do what is noble, what is right, and what is good." He hadn't planned to do this, not now; in truth he'd hoped that there would be time enough to mend his relationship with his apprentice, but the weight of the Council's decision had settled heavily within him. Throughout their work to process the younglings and Jedi relics (some of which he was taking with him to Tatooine; the most valuable and likely to create further chaos if they fell into the wrong hands), his chest had tightened until he saw before him not an apprentice, but something not quite a Jedi.

"I accept your relinquishment, my once and venerated master." Anakin is the first to let go. It stings despite the rain now falling in a pleasing rhythm around them. It only makes sense that Anakin leaves him there, standing to stare at a space that once held the most powerful Force user in the galaxy.

* * *

****

The myrtles had begun producing small, green buds, though the mornings are still cold. Hoarfrost lightly coats the cracked stone beneath his feet; the way the light falls on the foliage makes the carpet of myrtles appear as though it is one solid river, winding through the Elder Cairn and down the face of the old temple. Palpatine has never gone inside; especially now that his Force sensitivity is irrevocably muted - the Queen had bid him undergo an operation, a transfusion to remove the midichlorians from his blood. It had been contingent upon his remaining out of prison, as the Senate had put unrelenting pressure on Her Majesty following the initial shock of the proceedings during which he had been released. Never had he been more physically weak, though his resolve - his spiritual grounding - had never been stronger.

Of course, Sensitivity cannot be entirely removed. Her Majesty knows this, and sanctions him regardless; he's proven to be an invaluable resource to the Crown, and as such is mostly left to his own devices. His people, thankfully, are not aware of his Sith title - only that he committed crimes against an already-struggling Republic, and have thus lumped him into the same category as Valorum: ineffectual. Docile and harmless, and this is the blank slate he requires in order to carve out some semblance of a new life.

The memories of his father remain, though the voices of both Cosinga Palpatine and Darth Plagueis are long since burned from his subconscious. Their promptings for him to delve further into the darkness within himself may be gone, but he fights daily to quiet the guilt and strain of knowing what he has done; and accepting his life, for whatever it will be, in light of those things. The Senate, for its part, is flailing in the absence of the counsel of the Jedi. Palpatine has heard reports including familiar names: Wilhuff Tarkin, a young upstart named Orson Krennic fresh from Brentaal who wish to enact his vision for a superweapon. The Republic could become an empire, although Chancellor Mothma fights to maintain the precarious hold she has on the galaxy's governing body. Regardless, it isn't his fight anymore.

But it could be.

Palpatine understands, and has all along, that he could be called upon at any time in his comfortable exile to lend his still-brilliant mind to the task of guiding the galaxy out of turmoil; even if that guidance comes from the wings. Her Majesty had mentioned no prohibitions when it came to acting as an adviser, provided that took place in the shadows. Truly, had he ever known anything else? He'd served as puppeteer of the galaxy from underneath a heavy black robe; this was the only method he knew to accomplish anything.

And so he waits for Anakin, knowing that when the Jedi does finally come to Naboo, it will be to stay - and to make sense of a galaxy that had not been familiar to Sheev Palpatine for quite some time; and to make Palpatine familiar to himself, which was a taller order than perhaps even saving those he loved.

****

* * *

****

He chooses to wear civilian clothes, the same ones he took with him to Naboo. To remove his tabard and robe was symbolic; an acceptance of what was, a change in role. That he would never return to the Temple again, that the missions and battles were behind him, reached his consciousness in a rolling beat of a great timpani, as what Palpatine would often marvel at the opera.

The stars melted into the swirling blue of hyperspace - the exact shade Palpatine had worn during the Pas de Veruna. He is heartened by this, that his bond is everywhere even when he isn't physically present.

He wonders about his children. He wonders whose charge they are under, if they will be treated well, what kinds of people they will grow into. Will they be gifted in the Force? Will whomever their guardian is understand what that means, and be able to help them tap into their potential?

Would they ever come to him, demanding answers for what he's done?

He is met at the hangar by a sea of indistinguishable faces, save for that of the Queen Herself. She greets Anakin coolly, though this is her way. He wonders if she blames him; he wonders if it matters.

"I trust your journey was without incident." He walks just behind her, an old habit born of protecting and escorting scores of dignitaries over the course of his career, but he is still at a companionable proximity. "Yes, thank you, Your Majesty."

"We have unfinished business, Jedi Skywalker." The guards are dismissed with a flick of the Queen's wrist; he follows her into the same gallery in which she received Palpatine, beckoning him to sit in the same plush, aubergine chair in which Palpatine had sat. He does, immediately feeling the pull of something familiar, but his focus is entirely given to the monarch, who is actually _smiling_.

"This is a rarity, Your Majesty. Is it not unheard of for a Queen of Naboo to offer such unbridled emotion?"

"Not in the face of what we have accomplished, but it would be a departure from the norm, yes. You do know that I too am Force sensitive?"

"I uh - I mean, I had sensed _something_ -"

"Come now, Master Skywalker."

"I am no master, Your Majesty. With respect."

The Queen has stood for the entirety of the parlay, which is another violent departure from court procedure. No one sits in the presence of Her Majesty. "May I call you Anakin?"

"Of course."

"Anakin, I know how you loved Padme. How you fought to protect her, how you would have given her the stars one by one if you had learned to touch fire. She _was_ that fire."

"She - meant a great deal to me, Your Majesty. I did love her. Deeply, in fact."

"And what do you feel for Sheev Palpatine?"

The light from the impossibly tall, open windows bathes them both in ethereal light. Particles of dust, shining from Naboo's sun, make their surroundings almost dream-like. Anakin's eyes sweep over the Queen; she is offering her counsel to him, offering the consumption of her resemblance to Padme. He flushes when his gaze rests on her décolletage. If Her Majesty notices, she says nothing. Instead, she patiently awaits Anakin's answer, regarding him with a gentleness he doesn't expect and that thoroughly disarms him.

"I feel protective. As if - as if I am in charge of ensuring that he remains in the light."

"Did he ever tell you about his childhood? His adolescence?"

"Some things, yes, but I am given the impression that there is much more."

"And in your opinion as a healer of men, as Jedi, what is your belief regarding why he became Sith?"

"To transcend his suffering. To turn it into power, which he could use to then transcend himself and become more than a - a -"

"An abused and downtrodden boy, misunderstood at best and hated at worst. Yes. This is precisely the reason; and how I know that you will keep him from revisiting that need. It is, after all, a need. Power feeds on fear."

"Fear leads to the dark side."

It's an automatic, reflexive platitude. He regrets it as soon as it comes out of his mouth; the Queen frowns.

"There is no darkness without light. There is no progress without sacrifice, and their is no wisdom without suffering. Unlearn what you have learned, and you will help him. This is your mandate as the Chose One, and Naboo will be his freedom and his curse. As will it be yours."

"I don't feel cursed, caring for him the way that I do."

The Queen finally sits, her features once again neutral and seemingly disinterested. "No, but you will find that some wounds take a lifetime to heal. I imagine that losing the mother of your children will include the same process."

It's too much. He lets his carefully covered grief wrap its black fingers around his neck. "I need to know what happened to her."

Her Majesty draws a steadying breath.

"Padme Naberrie Amidala was a miraculous and prodigious queen, to say nothing of her political prowess. I will not disrespect her memory, but I will tell you truly: she knew about Palpatine, long before the Jedi."

"That's impossible." His rebuttal is butter. The Queen does not flinch.

"Had I not known that Padme was Sith, I would be inclined to agree."

"You - what? I would have known! Her shields wouldn't have been strong enough, I --"

"And you honestly believe that your power still renders you invincible. Not even Palpatine knew, which is why she was the perfect candidate to provide a counterbalance for his plans; to keep the war in the Council's favor all this time. It would position her to overthrow him, when the time was right."

He refuses to believe what he's hearing. "I knew her better than I know myself. It's simply not true."

"Search your feelings, young Skywalker. You know it is so. And now her children bear your combined abilities in the Force. Should they realize this potential and find themselves on the wrong side, well" she chuckles dryly "there will be no end to the line you have sired, and balance must always be enforced. It is cyclical, Jedi Skywalker. You must believe this."

He feels his facial muscles sink, though by some pull of the Force or by his own despair, he doesn't know. "Where is Palpatine?"

"At his manor, I imagine. Your transport awaits." She waves him away, and they part after Anakin bows curtly.

"I - I cannot thank you for this conversation, but I am grateful."

The Queen simply inclines her regal neck, the sun shifting again to make her seem for all the galaxy like the divine being the Naboo would believe that she is. "Go to him, and begin your sentence."

Anakin goes.

****

* * *

****

The slight wind gives him a crop of gooseflesh on his organic arm, for the first time rid of the fever that had wracked his body for a standard month. Even so, he can feel Palpatine's presence, though it isn't within the estate. Concerned, he checks the garden - nothing - and circles back inside to sit on one of the crimson armchairs newly set in the great hall. He sits, and he waits. It is nightfall and he has fallen asleep before he hears the mechanized parting of the doors, and in walks Palpatine.

Anakin rises to his feet, the words dead in his throat before he can say a word. In the darkness, Palpatine's eyes glow an unnatural blue.

"Si - Sheev? Palpatine?"

"My eyes - they used to glow like the embers you saw on Mustafar, but with the procedure -"

"What _procedure_?"

"Sit." Skywalker obeys, and Palpatine sits across from him and activates the lights. "It is a result of a procedure to separate the midichlorians from my blood. A precautionary measure, and one I actually allowed with relish. To rid myself of the poison that would have made me more of a monster than I was during the Clone Wars."

"That's barbaric."

"It is insurance, Anakin. Understand what is at stake."

"Padme was Sith. That's what the queen told me."

Palpatine stills, his knuckles white as he tightens his grip on the arms of his chair. "I am not entirely surprised, my boy. She had a knack for throwing you off course. I wondered, but not in my wildest dreams would I have actually believed her capable of sedition. It isn't in her nature. _Wasn't._." His cerulean eyes show nothing but apology.

"My children will eventually be given a choice. How can I guide them if I'm here?"

Sheev chances a breath. "You will when the time comes. You are not in exile; at least, not technically. I am the one who cannot leave, but you -" he gestures beyond them, toward the falling night and stars already shining brilliantly. "You will know what you must do."

Skywalker steels himself, wiping his swollen, stinging eyes with one linened sleeve. "I - left Obi-Wan. On Coruscant. The Order is disbanded. Everyone has gone into hiding."

"And what of you, darling Anakin?"

His eyes snap up to meet those of the Chancellor - no, _Palpatine_. Just Palpatine, now. "I am here. With you."

It's all the confirmation Palpatine needs. He rises slowly, taking the tired Jedi into his arms. "I am now the one who will comfort you, my Anakin. You are the match of me; this is why we are here."

Words are superfluous after that. Clothes fall from shaking shoulders, entire conversations and galaxies and apologies pour forth from heavy hands with a feather-light touch. Forgiveness is a fickle mistress before now, but Anakin finds the absolution he needs as he rolls his hips across Palpatine's own, signaling the power of his need. When Palpatine's robes are pushed away - not the opulent variants he was known for on Coruscant; perhaps more subservient, a symbol of his own guilt - he sees a scarlet shaft overburdened with an almost poetic need. He'd been saving himself; probably hurting himself for how he had waited to take Anakin now, when it was over.

Palpatine leads the Jedi Knight through the manor, curiously beyond where they would have ascended the steps to his bedroom, out passed the veranda and through to the middle of where the angry grapevines stood.

"Here" he croaks, and Anakin lies down until the thorns push into his flesh just as Palpatine does, his arms shaking with effort as he mumbles in Nubian - something about Anakin's strong jaw, something about how he could have waited a lifetime before his errant Knight returned to deliver him.

When they arrive to completion, it is simultaneous. A purple streak across the sky, dancing with a litany of stars and hope, shields them from harm as Anakin digs his blunt nails into Palpatine's back, until Palpatine himself is utterly drained of all life, regret, anger. The moons abide them, washing them in pale reverence.

His seed dries in the same garden in which he was given to evil, and the circle is complete. Anakin holds him in the dirt and sobs into the velvet skin of his neck, and Palpatine's reply comes in silent, violent tremors.

"Never leave me again" Sheev Palpatine whispers. Anakin's reply are fingers woven into his own.


	7. to the western gate, Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin proves adept at viticulture. An elderly Palpatine reflects on his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. I'd wager that a happy ending is highly unlikely were Palpatine to actually turn. If this does turn into a larger series, I'll position him to be of use to the Rebellion and ultimately to the Jedi. For right now, I wanted it to be a happy ending because that's what Anakin and Palpatine deserve in this AU.  
> 2\. There's another series begging to be written about Luke and Leia, growing up on Alderaan, and eventually discovering their father's identity. To say nothing of what I did with Padme...  
> 3\. Let me know if you guys want more. I have other fic projects in other universes in the works, but I'm loving this. For now, though... thank you SO MUCH for reading, the great comments, the presence as I explored this rare pairing. You all are the best.

_the reason I hold on_

****

* * *

He has learned to love the sun again, after years of being more of a slave to a blindingly hot orb than to Watto. Even now, utterly drenched in his own perspiration, he finds deliverance in the strange mechanical muscle memory of pulling grapes from the now-healthy vines. He chances the occasional glance upward, in prayer or in supplication Palpatine cannot say, but he always bursts into laughter afterward; he retinas being no better for it. Sheev has chastised him for this several times, but the boy persists.

Skywalker's efforts turn fruitful in the Fall, when once again the myrtles grow crisp underfoot - although he doesn't go to the Elder Cairn often, he remembers the way the ancient plant twists and contorts ever onward as time has continued its own relentless course. There have been Feasts since, and he has lead the Pas de Veruna with as much verve as he did fifteen standard years prior. The specific wine Anakin makes is not what his father had slaved over - the 'plasts containing the recipes long since thrown into the lake below, again as Skywalker's face (now weathered with time and all the more handsome for it) breaks into a smile. He knows that this gives Palpatine some measure of comfort, that he has mastered and perfected something that had once bred hatred in Palpatine's heart. And it does comfort him during those initial years of exile, where all he had to keep him company was his own self-loathing. Anakin didn't have it for long; he dragged his consort to galas and the opera, certain that if Palpatine were present in his own culture it would act as balm enough. He was right.

Her Majesty had not made mention of Palpatine's identity nor Padme's, and that meant that his sins were more or less forgiven - if not summarily swept under the rug by a people who were simply happy to have him near. Thanks in part to Anakin's renewing presence, he had not suffered the indignity of age as much as he perhaps ought to have; in fact, it was said around Theed that he looked better now than he ever had as Chancellor of the Republic: brilliant white hair, robes spun of shimmersilk and draped over a strong, still-slight frame. The wine and the briny air - from fishing with Anakin, a pastime he loathed but that kept him fit - seemed to keep him in good health and spirits.

Skywalker did leave from time to time, though not for long. He was trying to find his children, the heirs of his mighty bloodline, perhaps to attempt to sway them from the growing Empire's influence. Naboo remained untouched, though there were familiar names now coming upon his desk: Tarkin, Krennic, Motti. He knew them once as heroes, but now their greed and lust made them as monstrous as he had once groomed them to become. Even still, in his manor by the lake, Palpatine remained untouched by the threats of the galaxy - but not by his grief.

Anakin had aged, small lines in his face that webbed from the corners of his eyes - from the gratuitous smiling he did whenever Palpatine looked at him a certain way, or made love to him under a buoyant, full moon - made him appear wise. The wild shock of hair he'd worn during the Clone Wars was cut every standard two weeks, and flecks of gray had long since begun integrating themselves in his typical dark blond. His skin was kissed with a golden tinge from being outside in the spring and summer, though it never particularly faded in the winter cycle.

Sometimes, Palpatine caught himself falling to his beltline, on which his lightsaber was always hung. It served as a reminder that Anakin, while his lover and consort, was also his jailer in a way. Judge, jury, executioner - savior. He had long ago shirked the notion that he needed to make sense of it, as little in the galaxy made sense anymore save for Anakin's arms or Anakin's jaw under his lips, or Anakin's sweet voice when he still sang to him.

He did bid him go in search of Darth Vectivus' holocron once. It was, in retrospect, his final act as a Sith Lord; and Anakin knew this, knew that it was a Sith artifact he was sent to find, but he went willingly and boldly. It took him three weeks, and when he returned, he had the forgotten Sith's financial information - which had been thought to amount to little, but lead Palpatine and Anakin to secure a vast wealth that had accrued interest over the millennia. Now financially solvent after years as a slave, Anakin was able to spend his not-inconsiderable resources to help those planets struggling under Imperial occupation - including Alderaan, where it was discovered that his twins resided.

Their lives were spent in a strange limbo: discomfort, followed by long periods of prosperity and happiness. Guilt at what had transpired, relief that the worst hadn't happened, but an underlying fear that it could all be unraveled once a new monarch was chosen, or when the Empire's long reach finally extended to the heart of Naboo.

It was in that constant fear that they each found their punishment. This is what the Queen and the Jedi both had intended. Freedom from consequence, but not from conscience.

On days when Palpatine's joints didn't creak - increasingly rare as time passed, though he took pride in his virility - he danced the Pas on the veranda where Anakin could look up from his work and watch him. He didn't do this solely for the purpose of vanity; he did it so that he could still feel some connection to his roots, to a place he still felt was home after everything that had happened. It was a happy accident that Anakin still found him beautiful, even on the verge of his seventy-fifth Life Day. So Anakin would watch and Palpatine would dance, winding and twisting like the myrtles that had lead him to a new destiny. On they would play, like any swelling orchestra, until a new theme would come. Come it would in the lives of Anakin's twins, though that would not be for some years - time enough to lay in the sun, their backs cushioned by Naboo's fragrant and persistent grasses, happy to renew their promises to one another in less carnal ways. It was simple, and it was everything Palpatine never knew he needed. To be whole meant giving up the past, letting it take to the wind like chaff.

Still other nights, he would dream of his eyes - how they burned, how they glowed. He would dream, and when he woke he would find himself tethered to the present by the steady hold of Anakin's blue eyes, holding his own to account. It was only in those fleeting moments he felt that he could raise his arms and call upon the heavens to reclaim his power, but Anakin held fast. He was stronger than Palpatine had ever been, and with each subsequent moment, Palpatine came to know this completely. It was in that humility that he finally found the strength to carry on as a man; to daily beg himself for the forgiveness that had lead him to the darkness in the first place. Palpatine knows, as surely as he knows the rolling hills of his homeworld, that he will be at peace when the Force claims him. It is enough.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I'm considering turning this into an entire... thing... and writing the fix-it fic where Palpatine turns to the Light Side.  
> 2\. Darth_Videtur and I just finished freaking out over our mutual love of Ian McDiarmid - and by my estimation, how he almost single-handedly took the prequels to a frighteningly delicious level, both with his portrayal of Palpatine and his interpretation of the character.  
> 3\. Palpatine, further, is the most complex villain I have ever come across in any fandom. He is, like Darth_Videtur stated of themselves, my most favorite villain for that reason. _Darth Plagueis_ hashes out Palpatine's duality - a love for his homeworld, for art, for music; the things which inform our humanity; and Palpatine's brilliant and terrifying manipulation and evil. Had he looked at Anakin as a human being rather than the Chosen One, had he a reason to do so, things would have perhaps ended differently.  
>  4\. Anakin is very much a complete child in the prequels, torn in so many directions and battered by war and trauma that he has no clue what he wants in the reality of things. Defining the boundaries of romantic, motherly, and fraternal love is the key to finally finding peace; but first, he has to come to terms with the fact that Jedi most certainly _do_ love, and this is the crux of what Luke Skywalker struggles with in TLJ - that the Jedi and Sith have to end because they exist in extremes.  
>  5\. I don't know. I didn't realize this would become a full-blown project when I started it, but the more I think about Palpatine and McDiarmid's brilliant breath of life into the character, the more I want to take this to its conclusion. If it ends up magically becoming canon again and no one gets a happy ending, fine; I'm letting this flow, and that kind of writing is exciting. I hope you all think so, too.  
> 6\. I hope you animals know that I was grinning like an idiot at work reading these glowing comments from people whose writing I adore. You guys are the best.


End file.
